


Another Day Gettin' Into Trouble

by whoknows



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Clone-a-Willy, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8240045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoknows/pseuds/whoknows
Summary: Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.
In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?
Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.
Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really have anything to say about this other than that it's essentially porn. So, y'know, enjoy if you enjoy that sort of thing? And thank you as always to anyone who decides to read!

It started as a joke. It really, truly, honestly started as a joke.

Harry has no idea how it’s come this far.

 

Louis has been moody for days now, maybe even weeks, all snappy and irritable and terse to anyone who gets on his bad side. Even Harry. 

_Even Harry_. Louis never gets irritable with Harry, it’s kind of like a rule. He’ll scowl at Zayn and slap at Liam and mutter under his breath at Niall but when it comes to Harry he usually just curls up against his side and goes to sleep. Granted, he’s huffy about it, but he never takes his irritation out on Harry. All the bickering they do is solely happy bickering, friendly bickering.

He’s been on Harry’s case about a game controller that Harry hasn’t touched for the past half hour. Seriously. It’s been thirty minutes of being badgered about it and it doesn’t show any sign of letting up.

“Jesus, Lou, will you stop already?” Harry asks impatiently, stretching up to reach for a box of cereal. “I don’t know where the fucking controller is. Why are you being so annoying lately, anyway? You need to get laid or something?” He grabs the Raisin Bran off the shelf and turns around with it in hand, expecting to get his head bitten off for the comment. 

Louis is _blushing_. Louis. Is blushing.

Harry blinks. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Louis blush before. “ _Seriously_?” he says. “That’s why you’ve been so antsy lately? You just need to get laid?”

Louis scowls. It’s almost unbearably cute paired with his flush. “No. Shut up. Go away. I hate you.” He stalks out of the room before Harry can do anything other than laugh.

Seriously. He just needs to get laid.

 

Of course, nothing is ever that easy. Louis stays crabby for the next few days, elbowing Harry off whenever he goes in for a hug. He perks up a little when they have a party after one of the shows, but it’s nowhere near his usual self.

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.

In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?

Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.

Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

 

When he wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t even remember getting the kit, much less actually using it. It’s not until he’s trying to frantically pack up his stuff so they can get on the road again that he sees it and thinks _oh yeah_.

It would probably be in poor taste to give it to Louis.

He ends up giving it to Louis anyway. If he does it with a shit-eating grin on his face it’s not like anyone is going to judge him for it. It may be stupid to give the thing to Louis in the first place but it would be even stupider to give it to him with an audience, and Harry’s not quite that dumb.

 

For a while, he forgets about it. It was a joke, from start to finish, and Louis took it with the ill-tempered grace of someone who wished they thought of it first, and that’s the end of it.

Or so Harry thought.

 

“Louis,” Harry calls, already hefting Louis’ bag out of his bunk, “have you seen my shirt? The one with the pattern?” 

If Louis has taken it again Harry’s going to kill him. He’s never even see Louis _wear_ it, either - somehow it just ends up in Louis’ bag like once a week. It’s one of Harry’s favourite shirts, too. He has no idea how it keeps happening.

Louis doesn’t answer. Harry takes that as permission to dump all of his stuff out of his bag onto the bunk and rummage through it.

Something rolls out before he can find the shirt, landing on the floor between his feet. Harry bends down, intending to pick it up and stuff it back into the bag.

“Oi, don’t touch my sex toys,” Louis says abruptly, all elbows as he shoves himself between Harry and the bunk, swooping down to pick it up.

Intrigued, Harry peers over his shoulder as he shoves it into his bag. It looks familiar. Really, really familiar, actually.

“I think technically it’s mine,” Harry says before he can think the better of it.

Louis elbows him again, tucking the bag into the farthest corner of the bunk. He has to lean up onto his tiptoes to do it. Harry has only just finished resisting the urge to tip him over when Louis squirms back around again, poking him in the chest. “What are you even doing digging through my bag, anyway?”

Shrugging, Harry tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back onto his heels. “I was looking for my shirt, the one with the pattern you always steal. Instead I found my cock. I was wondering where I put that.”

“You really need to keep better track of your stuff,” Louis says, patting him on the cheek. “Now come with me, I want to tie all of Liam’s socks together.”

Harry goes. There’s really no other choice when Louis tells him to do something.

 

Being a celebrity can be hard sometimes. Don’t get him wrong, Harry isn’t complaining - he loves his job, loves being able to do what he loves - but at the end of the day it can sometimes get exhausting. Jet lag and different time zones get rough after the first few times, and while he’s perfected sleeping in a bed that isn’t his own he always misses his.

Thousand thread count sheets. They’re fucking amazing.

Still, though, there’s times Harry can’t sleep, and when he can’t sleep he needs to find ways to entertain himself.

_I wanna come home and sleep in my own bed_ Harry sends at three in the morning.

Louis replies a couple of minutes later. _You’ve only slept in that bed like five times since you got it, whiner, stop pretending you miss the damn bed._

Well. That’s extremely rude, but he’s not wrong. Either way.

_I’m bored. What are you doing?_

Louis’ response takes a bit longer this time. _None of your business. Go to sleep._

Harry can’t sleep, that’s the entire problem. If Louis had have picked up the phone when Harry called him three minutes ago he would know this.

_Louuuuuuuuu_ he sends back. Then, after five minutes has passed and Louis still hasn’t responded, sends _LOOOOOOUUUUUUUUU!!!!_

_Oh my god, go to sleep already_ Louis sends. _I’m busy_.

He should know by now that Harry doesn’t give up that easily. _Louuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Entertain me._

No response comes for so long Harry starts typing out a long, laborious string of _LOUISLOUISLOUIS_ and then suddenly he’s staring at a picture of Louis curled up in bed with the covers pulled up to his shoulders and a dildo lying next to his face.

Harry’s dildo.

Instantly, Harry hits the call button. “You dirty little slag,” he says admiringly, the second Louis picks up.

Louis laughs. It’s a light, airy sound, a little sleepy. Happy. “Told you I was busy.”

“It’s like two in the afternoon in London, what are you even doing wanking at this time?” Harry asks, reaching out to flick the bedside lamp off, plunging the room into darkness.

“Well, first off, it’s half past ten in the morning, you idiot, and secondly, when I decide to wank is none of your business.”

Harry hums consideringly. “It is when you’re using my cock to do it, I think.” He’s pretty sure he has a point.

“Didn’t realize your cock was detachable, Harold,” Louis retorts, sounding almost unbearably fond. Harry can relate. Sometimes he thinks he’ll keel over with how much he appreciates every little bit of Louis.

“It is, though,” Harry says slowly, letting his eyes slip closed. “You’re gonna wake up to my cock slapping you in the face. You wanted an eight a.m. wake up call, right?”

“God, you never shut up,” Louis mutters. “You’re ruining my post-orgasm afterglow, I’ll have you know.”

Dark colours dance behind Harry’s closed eyelids, slow and soothing. Sleep is creeping up on him, visceral and obvious. It won’t be long before he succumbs to it. “What did you eat for dinner.”

“You’re a fucking freak,” Louis sighs, but he starts telling Harry about the Sunday night roast he’d had, and that’s how Harry falls asleep.

 

It’s only another three days before they’re back on the road again. The boys all look the same as they had a week ago, and the first thing Harry does is catch Louis in his arms and hug him tight, unwilling to let go before he’s good and ready.

The top of Louis’ head smells the same as it always has, rich with the scent of his shampoo, and for the first time in a week Harry feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

Neither of them bring up the dildo incident.

 

The show that night is amazing. The crowd is on point, singing along to the songs at the top of their lungs, and every second of it reminds Harry exactly why he loves doing what he does. They’re back in the best possible way, and it seems like the boys are feeling the same as Harry is, if the grins on their faces are any indication.

Such a great kick-off of their tour calls for an equally great celebration, and they spend the rest of the night being entirely too loud and drinking entirely too much. Louis is back to his normal self, climbing all over everyone and yelling every word he says, arms looped around Harry’s neck half the night, hanging off him like he thinks Harry’s going to be able to support his drunk arse.

Harry would have to be way drunker than he is to let Louis fall, so he holds him up, shouts right back at him and has a few more drinks.

It’s the best he’s felt in weeks.

 

Harry’s a little drunk. Harry’s a little drunk, at a party he doesn’t really want to be attending, doing the worst kind of promo, surrounded by people he doesn’t really know, and he’s hungry. Drunk and hungry. The only food being served are these tiny little appetizers that take less than one bite to consume, and Harry’s a little bit drunk and they still taste like cardboard.

In his pocket, his phone vibrates. It takes a few seconds but Harry manages to pull it out of his jeans, squinting at the screen as he tries to unlock it.

That also takes a few tries. For some reason the only code that comes to mind is 6969 from when Louis thought it was the most hilarious joke he’d ever come up with. Harry had changed it about five minutes after figuring it out but it’s stuck in his brain now, going through on repeat.

Speaking of Louis, there’s a photo message from him waiting to be opened. Harry’s aware that his smile is probably a little dopey as he thumbs it open, but he doesn’t care. Louis sends the best photos – pictures of him cuddling the babies, close-ups of the assorted scrapes and bruises he gives himself trying to do skateboard tricks, the mess he’s made of the kitchen trying to make dinner. That’s not even counting the ones he sends of his face, either.

Sometimes the pictures are so good that Harry doesn’t even mind the ones that are just Louis gloating about getting to be in bed when Harry can’t. Sometimes.

That’s kind of what he’s expecting now, a picture of Louis tucked up in a hotel room bed, covers pulled up to his chin, bed hair and sleepy eyes. He’d been smug about it earlier, being able to go to bed at a reasonable hour while Harry attends this party. Sometimes Harry thinks that Paul rigs the straws so that when they draw for who has to attend he’s always the one who gets the short straw. There’s no way his luck is this bad otherwise.

That’s kind of what Harry gets, a picture of Louis in bed. With an emphasis on the _kind of_.

Louis is in bed, it’s true, and he does have the covers spread around him, hair messy and tangled, eyes sleepy, but he’s got the dildo in the picture with him.

More specifically, he’s got his mouth around the dildo, cheeks hollowed as he sucks on it. It’s only the tip, and he’s clearly being lazy about it, more idly mouthing at it than anything.

Harry’s instantly hard.

He has to duck away, find a bathroom he can hole up in for a minute, stabbing half frantically at the buttons on his phone until it’s finally doing what he wants it to.

There’s a click as Louis answers, then, “You always call me at the worst times, you know.”

“Louis,” Harry hisses, double checking to make sure the stall is locked. The last thing he needs is someone walking in on him like this.

Louis laughs. It’s only a little mocking. “Got a problem?” he asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be pretending to be a good little party attendee right now?”

Harry’s cock doesn’t show any sign of flagging. The image is still branded in his brain, Louis with the dildo in his mouth. It’s definitely - unexpected.

Yeah, unexpected is one way to put it.

“You can’t send me things like that when you know I’m going to open them in public,” Harry says, still hissing. Sits down on the toilet because his knees feel like they’re not going to be able to support him any longer.

“How was I supposed to know you were going to open it right away?” Louis asks. “You’re supposed to be at a party, Harold, not checking your phone every five seconds like an obsessive freak.”

“You had a _dildo_ in your _mouth_ ,” Harry says.

He still can’t believe it.

“Just a little,” Louis allows. “Just the tip, innit? Doesn’t count.”

Okay, wait. “What kind of sex are you having if just the tip doesn’t count?” Harry wonders. “Anyone who tells you the tip doesn’t count only wants to get into your pants.”

“Nah,” Louis says, dismissive, and the thing is that Harry knows he’s only doing it to rile him up, but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “What kind of boys are you dating, Louis. I think we need to re-visit the whole me having last say in your love life thing.”

Louis snorts. “As if that’s ever going to happen,” he says. “The last thing I need is you judging every guy I’m even remotely interested in.”

That’s just rude. Harry wouldn’t judge the people Louis is interested in - all he wants is for Louis to be happy, after all. It’s one of the most important things to him.

“I wouldn’t judge them,” he says, picking at the knee of his jeans. “I just want you to be happy, Lou.”

Louis’ snort is even more incredulous this time. “You would find something wrong with all of them and you know it. You’re pickier about the people I date than you are about which boots you’re going to buy next.”

“In my defense, you being happy is a little more important to me than what I have on my feet,” Harry points out. It’s a pretty reasonable statement, he thinks.

“You’re missing the point,” Louis says. “You take so fucking long to decide what boots you want it’s like five years of my life have gone by. I’m hanging up now.”

True to his word, he does hang up. Harry wastes five minutes calling him back before Louis finally answers, and then it’s only to laugh in Harry’s ear for another five minutes.

It’s a pretty good distraction from the party.

 

Harry lasts all of three days before he starts thinking about the picture again. It came out of nowhere, completely unprovoked, and they haven’t really talked about it. Not in a meaningful way, at least, and definitely not in a way that explains why Louis sent it in the first place.

Somehow, while he’s been thinking about the absurdity of the situation, his hands have decided to pull his phone off the bedside table, unlock it, and pull up his camera roll. There’s a lot of pictures on it, more than he should have if he ever wants to be able to take any more, which reminds him that he needs to upload them to his computer. He scrolls through them, lingering for a minute on the first one Louis sent him, the one of him lying in bed with the dildo near his face. It’s a pretty picture, exactly the type of soft-core porn that the media would go nuts about if they got a hold of, but he only looks at it for a minute.

Then he looks at the other picture, the less soft-core picture. The one that the media would _pay for_ in order to get their hands on.

It’s a good picture. It’s a really fucking attractive picture, actually, and Harry still doesn’t understand why Louis sent it but the longer he looks at it the more turned on he gets. And that’s weird, right, that’s really weird, but at the same time it’s Louis and Harry has always been aware of how attractive he is, so at the same time it’s not weird. It’s just Louis and his super attractive face with his super attractive mouth fit snug around a dildo made out of a mold of Harry’s cock. Nothing weird about that at all.

He tosses his phone back onto the table feeling only vaguely unsettled. And if he has to jerk off before he can actually fall asleep, well, that’s between him and his cock.

No one has to know.

 

They make it through another week and a half without it coming up again. They’ve got a bit of break between tour dates, and Harry tries very hard not to think about it anymore, busying himself with other things.

It’s harder than he would have thought it’d be.

 

Back home, Harry comes home to find a mess in his kitchen and a boy half asleep in his bed. It’s the middle of the day and Harry had only gone out for groceries, and coming back to find this is an unexpectedly lovely surprise.

Harry makes two cups of tea and takes them to bed with him. Louis watches him set one of them down on the table beside him with half open eyes, quiet.

“You know it’s barely past noon, right?” Harry asks, just to make sure. He wouldn’t put it past Louis _not_ to know, after all.

“Shh,” Louis mumbles, curling up with his head on Harry’s shoulder the second Harry gets onto the bed. “Your opinion doesn’t count for anything.”

He’s ignoring his tea, seems content to let it go cold on the table, which means that he’s going to whine about it in an hour and force Harry to go make him another one. Harry sets about drinking his own, sipping at it while it’s still hot.

“So,” he says eventually, once the tea is half gone and Louis has gone completely boneless against him, “about that picture.”

Louis doesn’t even tense a little bit. Clearly Harry has picked the perfect time to have this discussion.

The pat Harry gets in response is more of a half-hearted flop against his arm than anything. “It’s okay if you need to use it as a frame of reference when you touch yourself at night. I know you have trouble getting it up.”

Harry squawks, setting his empty cup down in favour of crushing Louis against him punishingly. Or it’s meant to be a punishment, at least, but all Louis does is settle on top of him instead, tucking his head under Harry’s chin. His weight is warm, familiar.

“Why do you have such an obsession with my dick?” Harry asks.

“Why do you have such an obsession with walking around naked?” Louis shoots back. He hikes his knee up higher, settling himself more comfortably, and doesn’t seem to mind that his new position has his hip pressing that much more firmly against Harry’s cock.

Well, it’s not as though he’s not already pretty familiar with what Harry’s cock feels like, by the sound of it.

“I like the breeze,” Harry answers, squeezing two handfuls of Louis’ arse, just for the way he squeaks.

“Ugh, you’re gross, don’t touch me,” Louis complains, wiggling a bit, like he’s trying to get away. Not nearly enough to actually get himself anywhere, though.

Harry inhales pointedly. “I’m not the one who smells like he hasn’t showered in two days.”

“Why would I shower just to see your ugly face?” Louis demands, stretching an arm out and wiggling his fingers in the direction of his tea. He doesn’t make any effort to _actually_ reach for it, and Harry knows that this can only end one way, so to preempt it he settles a hand in the middle of Louis’ back and tips them over a bit, until he can snag the cup.

Wait a minute.

“Did you come over here just to use my shower?” Harry asks suspiciously. It’s a good shower, with six different shower heads, heated floors and benches, the whole nine yards. Louis finds an excuse to use it every time he comes over, getting increasingly more flimsy with each one.

Louis busies himself drinking the tea. Harry’s always been the more patient out of the two of them, though, and he can wait Louis out.

“Harry,” Louis says, cradling the cup close to his chest, “my tea is cold.”

“That’s not my problem,” Harry says immediately. He’s comfortable now, the last thing he wants to do is get up to make Louis a fresh cup of tea. Especially when they’re having a discussion Harry could win.

“Harry,” Louis repeats, “my tea is _cold_.”

Harry doesn’t waver. He also doesn’t look down at Louis’ face. Looking at Louis’ face would only lead to him giving in, and he’s determined to win.

“ _Fine_ ,” Louis says, over-dramatic and loud as usual, all elbows as he pushes himself off Harry’s lap, nearly spilling what’s left of his tea in the process. “I’ll just go make it myself, then, if you don’t love me enough to do it.”

He flounces out of the room, shooting a glare at Harry over his shoulder as he goes. Harry lasts about two minutes before he clambers out of bed and follows him to the kitchen. They make cookies and add to that mess in the kitchen.

 

For the most part, Harry forgets about the two dildo incidents. They’re on a small break from touring, and while that doesn’t mean that they get to shirk the rest of their responsibilities - unfortunately - it does mean that they have a lot more time to themselves to do with what they please.

Niall has long since taken off back to Mullingar, Liam is visiting his parents and Zayn is - somewhere. Harry’s pretty sure he’s alive, holed up somewhere refusing to see the light of day, but there’s also the possibility that he’s been turned into a vampire and is currently taking over the city one undead soul at a time.

It’s hard to tell with Zayn.

When they have a break like this, a break that’s not really a break, Harry and Louis still spend a lot of time together. Louis doesn’t like being alone for extended periods of time, and Harry’s not that great at taking care of himself unless he’s got someone else around to badger him into it. They have a system, and it works pretty well.

“We could go paintballing,” Louis suggests, face the deepest shade of red Harry’s ever seen it.

Harry hums, shifting his arm so he has a better grip on Louis’ knees, holding him steady as he tries to pull clothes out of the dryer upside down. “The last time we went paintballing you wouldn’t stop shooting me in the back every time I turned around.”

“That’s kind of the point of paintballing, Harold,” Louis wheezes, flailing around as he tries to pull a shirt out.

“We were on the same team!” Harry protests.

Louis makes a noise that would probably be a sniff if he wasn’t currently dangling upside down and out of breath. “Semantics,” he says, snagging the shirt and tossing it into the basket triumphantly. “Done! Ha, I told you I could get all the clothes out of the dryer upside down. You never believe me.”

“Yeah, and you probably only gave yourself a little more brain damage in the process,” Harry says, leaving the basket where it is and hauling Louis back out into the living room, careful as he drops him onto the couch.

Immediately, Louis rolls over, squirming around as he gets himself into a comfortable position, taking up all the room as usual. “Harry,” he says, suspicious, head buried in a pillow, “did you open the window again?”

Harry sighs, nudging Louis’ ankle idly. “I cleaned the floors when you were making lunch, you know I always open the window to air out the house a bit when I do that.”

“But now I’m cold,” Louis says, shivering theatrically, like that’s a reasonable thing to be doing when it’s a mild spring day. “Can you get me a hoodie?”

He’s using his sweet eyes, the soft, slightly sad ones he pulls out when he wants someone to do something that’s not important enough to actually pull out the puppy dog eyes. They shouldn’t work on Harry, not after having known each other for this long, but they always do. Somehow, they always do.

Harry sighs, squeezing Louis’ ankle again and meandering down the hallway, up the stairs and into Louis’ bedroom. As always, it’s a bit of a tip. He does a decent job keeping the rest of the house clean when he’s home - refuses to have any kind of maid service while he’s there, insisting that he needs his privacy - but he says his room is his sanctuary. Harry’s pretty sure that he’s just too lazy to haul his dirty laundry down the stairs more than once a week.

Harry’s spent plenty of time navigating this room, so it doesn’t take much effort to step over the pile of clothes on the floor in order to root through Louis’ closet, looking for the black hoodie Louis stole from him ages ago and keeps claiming he can’t find when Harry remembers to ask for it back. He’s pretty sure it’s clean, hasn’t seen Louis wearing it over the past few days.

Eventually, he finds it. It’s stuffed in a corner in the back, not even on a hanger. Harry rolls his eyes as he retrieves it, turning around to head back downstairs.

Something catches his eye before he gets there. Something Harry is intimately acquainted with.

He picks it up, takes it with him downstairs, where Louis is still lying on the couch, re-starting the theatrical shivering as soon as he sees Harry come in. “You took so long,” he complains, holding his arms up like he’s expecting Harry to dress him like he’s a child.

Harry’s kind of tempted to do just that, if only for the look on Louis’ face as he yanks the hoodie down onto him. Instead, he drops the dildo onto Louis’ chest, letting it land with a thump. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Louis is, yelling, “Harold! Do you know where that thing’s _been_?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Harry says before he thinks about it, earning himself a slap in the process. A gentle one, one that barely makes any contact with his body, but a slap nonetheless.

Rude.

“You’re so bloody _nosy_ , always going through all my things like you think I’m trying to hide something from you,” Louis says, arms still extended. Harry pulls him up into a sitting position, watching as he buries himself into the hoodie in a much more complicated than necessary fashion. “What are you, some kind of jilted lover?”

Never mind the fact that the dildo was just sitting out in the open for anyone to find. Louis has just opened up a can of worms, here, and Harry intends to let them wiggle all over the room.

“I am,” Harry says, falling over onto his side and splaying his hand out dramatically against his chest, over his heart. “You’ve wounded me with your countless infidelities, Louis, I don’t know how you expect me to go on.”

“There’s only one solution now,” Louis agrees gravely, head finally popping through the hoodie. Harry has to resist the urge to snicker. “You’ll have to spend the rest of your days living your life as a simple chicken farmer in Nebraska, only the sound of the wind to keep you company at night, staying away from anyone who ventures into your lonely world. It’ll be a quiet existence, full of solitude and despair. If you leave now you’ll probably make it in time for the morning feed.”

Harry stares at him. Louis blinks back innocently. “God, you’re a dick,” Harry says eventually, completely forgetting how this conversation got started in the first place.

 

He doesn’t forget for too long. The next time he’s on the phone with Louis, while Louis is off in the middle of nowhere supposedly writing with Liam - Harry thinks they’re probably just playing an incredibly rousing game of Go Fish - the image drifts through his head, like it’s been doing a few times a day since Louis sent the picture.

“Why do you still have the dildo?” Harry asks suddenly, interrupting Louis mid-sentence.

Louis doesn’t even pause. “Because I’m a human being with a decent sex drive?” he responds. “What kind of question is that, Harry?”

Okay, that’s completely not what Harry meant and he’s pretty sure Louis knows it. “It’s a copy of my cock, though, Lou.” 

Another thing he’s pretty sure Louis already knows.

“You’re very full of yourself,” Louis says, matter of fact, and Harry knows it’s a bad idea to respond with _so are you_.

“So are you.”

Sometimes his brain to mouth filter doesn’t work the way it should.

“Oi, don’t disrespect me bum like that,” Louis says, faking outrage, and Harry’s brain does that weird thing where it just - focuses on the one thing he probably shouldn’t be focusing on.

“I’m not,” Harry tells him. “Your bum probably gets along with my cock really well. Like they’re made to fit.”

There’s a beat of silence, over quick. “Well,” Louis says, halting, slightly unsure, “it is a pretty good fit.”

Interest piqued, Harry says, “Yeah?”

Louis snorts, says, “Like you’ve never been told you’ve got a nice cock before.”

In all fairness, Harry has been told that before. It’s always a nice thing to hear, no matter who it’s coming from, but it might be the nicest coming out of Louis’ mouth.

“It might have been said a time or two,” Harry allows. “It sounds a lot truer when it’s coming from you, though. Those other people never really sounded like they meant it.”

“Always fishing for compliments,” Louis mutters, more to himself than Harry. “Listen up, I’m only going to say this once. Your cock is really nice, Harry. Sometimes when I sit on it I feel like I’m going to come without even having to move, that’s how good it is. Never had a toy that felt like that before.”

He feels - he feels like he’s going to come when he sits on Harry’s cock. _He feels like he’s going to come when he sits on Harry’s cock._

Speaking of, Harry’s cock has gotten uncomfortably hard, trapped behind two layers of fabric.

“How many times have you used it?” It sounds like Louis has been using it regularly. Frequently. 

There’s a bit of a pause. It’s hesitant, unsure. “I don’t think I should answer that,” Louis says eventually.

“Come on,” Harry says, wheedling. He wants to know. He wants to know pretty badly. “You’ve only had it for a couple of weeks, yeah? Even if you used it every day that’s still only fourteen times, max.”

More silence. It’s guilty silence, this time.

“Wait, seriously?” Harry asks. “You’ve actually used it that many times?”

“Stop judging me!” Louis says, nearly a shriek. It’s on purpose, obviously, but underneath the intentional high-pitch there’s a thread of unintentional screechiness. “It’s the best sized toy I have, I already told you.”

That’s - probably more arousing than it should be.

“Big and thick, fits you just right?” Harry presses. Vaguely, he’s aware that it’s weird he’s even asking, that this entire conversation is weird. That he maybe shouldn’t be asking his best mate if Harry’s cock is a good fit for his arse.

Oh well. The question’s already out. No sense in trying to take it back now.

Louis huffs. “I’m not going to say it again.” There’s something in his voice, something that’s a little bit strained, a little bit off. Harry concentrates on that note, trying to identify it.

“How do you like it best?” Harry asks, still thinking about it. “You like it inside of you, yeah, but inside of you _how_? Do you like to lie on your back in the middle of the bed, propped up on a thousand pillows, taking it achingly slow? Or do you like to lie on your belly, reach around behind yourself and push it in nice and fast?”

He has to pause, just long enough to suck in a deep breath. “Maybe you like it best when you can sit on it, though. Let gravity do all the work for you, so all you have to do is rock your hips a bit, until you’ve got it deep and angled just right. Is that - ”

He’s cut off. Or, rather, he cuts himself off, because the noise on the other end of the line has gone staccato and sharp. Short. 

Whimpery.

It sounds like Louis has come.

Has Louis come?

“Lou,” Harry says, free hand twitching against the mattress, a beat away from reaching out as though Louis is here with him, on this bed, “Lou, did you - ”

Come.

“You did,” Harry says, saying the words out loud as he realizes them, realizes that this is what Louis sounds like when he comes.

Huh. It’s something Harry has never thought to think about before.

For a few minutes, Louis is quiet. Mostly quiet. His breathing is still heavy, hitching every so often as he comes down from his orgasm, and Harry’s always been a talker, even before he started having sex. None of that has changed, so he finds himself talking through the quiet, filling the space.

“That’s good,” he murmurs. “That’s real good, Lou, you’re so good. Did such a good job for me, sweetheart. Just keep breathing, yeah, you’re so beautiful.”

Eventually, Louis’ breathing goes soft and slow. He sounds sleepy as he says, “If I didn’t feel so good right now I would probably be mortified.”

Harry laughs. His cock is still hard. “You never need to be embarrassed about anything with me,” he says honestly.

“I hate you,” Louis says. There’s a little bit of real, actual disgust in his voice. Before Harry can start feeling concerned, Louis is continuing, “You’re so fucking good to me all the time.”

Harry can’t bite back his smile. His cock is still hard but he can barely feel it now, so focused on the sound of Louis’ voice on the other end of the line. “Well, I kind of have to be,” he says. “You’re mine, I gotta treat you right.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Louis threatens. Harry yelps out his protest, and they stay on the phone for another twenty minutes.

By the end of it, Harry’s cock is still hard.

 

It shouldn’t become normal, not after that. It should have been a one time only thing, something that happened and that they never speak of again. When they see each other the next day, neither of them mention it. It isn’t even awkward - Louis is still his best friend, and it doesn’t matter that he likes sitting on a copy of Harry’s cock, that he gets himself off with it. What matters is that they love each other and that their relationship stays the same.

More or less, anyway. After the next three times it happens, one of them calling the other and it devolving into phone sex with a side of sex toys, Harry realizes it’s become a pattern.

They both come every time.

 

The pictures, though. After that first one, the one Louis sent to him while Harry was at a fucking _party_ , the pictures don’t stop coming.

They’re mostly tame. Suggestive, sure, but tame, for the most part. Louis in a bed somewhere, the dildo somewhere in the bed with him, usually visible but not always. One time it was just lying in the background of a selfie Louis was taking at the time, and apparently he found it suggestive enough to send to Harry anyway. Harry wasn’t complaining. 

A few of the pictures are more than suggestive. A few of the pictures are actually erotic, pictures of Louis with the dido somewhere on or in his body, and those are the ones Harry can’t seem to stop going back to, can’t seem to stop staring at whenever he gets the chance.

He’d like to say it’s a picture he’s staring at now, something that’s got that element of awe-inspiring attractiveness to it to explain why he can’t tear his gaze away.

Needless to say, it’s not. No, what Harry is staring at right now is a text. Or, rather, a series of texts. _For all I know you’re just saying that it’s your cock_. Then, _never seen your cock hard, after all. Seen you naked plenty of times but never when you’ve actually had a boner_ , and _you could’ve just bought a dildo and been lying to me all this time about it being your cock_. 

And, finally, _Prove it. Send me a picture_.

Prove it. Send him a picture.

For some reason, Harry never expected to be asked to reciprocate. Which is stupid, obviously. The first picture came as a freebie, without warning or context, and a lot of the other ones have been like that as well, but he’s done his fair share of asking for them. They haven’t all been Louis’ idea, and Harry’s been too dumb to think about returning the favour.

Christ, Harry is so stupid.

He fumbles one handed to get his jeans undone and pushed down to his thighs. No plumping is necessary – he’s already hard, been that way for at least ten minutes now. He can’t stop himself from giving it a few strokes anyway, the feeling too good to resist. Then, after he’s got that out of his system, he fiddles with his phone, taking a few pictures before settling on an angle that makes his cock look especially good. Louis has clearly been putting a lot of effort into the photos he sends Harry, the least Harry can do is put the same amount of effort into it in return.

Once it’s been sent, the only thing Harry can do is stare at his phone, gripping it tight with one hand and slowly stroking his cock with the other. He waits with bated breath for what feels like forever, muscles in his stomach gone tight with anticipation.

He doesn’t even know what he’s anticipating, either. Louis is going to reply, obviously, wouldn’t have asked for the picture if he was just going to ignore it, but what he’s going to reply with Harry has no idea. Can think of a few things but doesn’t know which one it’s actually going to be, if it’s going to be any of them.

Louis’ reply, when it comes, just reads _I’ve seen better_.

Harry gapes at the message, mouth hanging open. He probably looks really stupid, flabbergasted and cock still hard in his fist, and he’s kind of glad no one is around to see it.

His phone lights up with an incoming call before Harry can decide how to feel about that comment. He hits the accept button and Louis’ voice immediately greets him with, “How many pictures did you take before you decided on one that was good enough?” His tone is familiar, complaining, and he doesn’t let Harry answer before continuing, “You took five minutes just to send me one picture, Harry, what the fuck.”

“What, did you want more than one?” Harry asks. For some reason his brain decides it’s the best answer.

“God, Harry, I want _all_ the pictures,” is Louis’ immediate reply. “Sometimes I sleep with the dildo in the bed with me, what about that makes you think that I would only want one picture? I love your dick.”

Heat spreads through Harry’s belly, searing and intense. It’s flattering, of course, but it’s more than that. Louis has been increasingly more vocal during these phone calls about how much he likes it, the dildo, and Harry’s always appreciated being told that his cock is nice, but Louis makes it sound like it’s the best fuck he’s ever had. Like he’s never had a cock that fits inside him better than Harry’s does. And that’s – it’s really fucking hot.

“’m sorry, baby,” Harry says, licking at his bottom lip and giving his cock another rough drag with his fist. “Next time I’ll send you a whole album’s worth of photos, okay?”

Next time. His cock throbs, liking the sound of that.

“Fine,” Louis says. He doesn’t sound nearly as disgruntled as Harry would have thought he’d be, which must mean that – 

“Is it in you right now?”

“That’s really none of your business, is it?” Louis asks, half demanding. “You don’t get to know what I do with my arse when you can’t even be bothered to send me enough motivation in return.”

“Lou,” Harry pleads.

There’s a huffy sigh, one that’s halfway between being exasperated and too turned on to care. “Yes.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but that’s okay. Harry’s had a lot of experience breaking past Louis’ barriers, and he knows what Louis sounds like when he’s willing to be coaxed into something. And this is definitely one of those times. 

He probably just wants to come. That doesn’t mean that Harry’s not going to take advantage of it, though.

“You are the biggest menace I’ve ever met,” Harry says, more to himself than to Louis. “Just in your hotel room berating me for something like you haven’t got a fake cock up your arse. Unbelievable.”

It really is unbelievable. He means it in the best way. Unbelievable. 

“Can you get to the point for once?” Louis says. “If you’re not going to get me off I’m going to hang up and do it myself.”

Oh, no, Harry has every intention of getting him off. Every intention of getting them both off.

“You want to get off? Fine. Touch yourself.”

“I _am_ ,” Louis says, petulant, a little bratty. “Did you think I was trying to get myself off hands free?”

That’s a thought to savour another time. Louis coming all over himself without having to touch himself, he’s just that turned on, pink and flushed, gasping for air, muscles tense and rigid, overwhelmed by all the feelings.

Yeah. Definitely a thought to savour at a later time.

“Have I ever not got you there?” Harry asks, half demanding it himself. “I always take care of you, don’t I? So touch yourself. Slow, okay? Go the same pace I’m talking at.”

“Okay,” Louis breathes back, and the sound of skin sliding against skin is faint through the phone line, but it’s there. Unmistakable. He’s doing it.

Good.

“Good,” Harry says, and then there’s words slipping out of his mouth without conscious input from his brain. They must be good, the words, because Louis is responding to them, breathy little noises, helplessly turned on, responding to anything Harry asks him, and Harry can't quite focus, can't quite get his brain to concentrate on anything other than how Louis sounds, funneling directly through his veins to his cock.

He talks them both into an orgasm. He doesn’t really remember doing it, only that his entire body feels like it’s melting, and that Louis keeps murmuring soft little sounds back to him. It’s good. Everything is so good.

 

Later, after Harry’s brain has started working again, he sends that photo album’s worth of pictures to Louis. He gets just as many in return. 

 

Someone is singing. Someone is singing and it’s three in the morning. Harry doesn’t want to open his eyes, but someone is singing and it’s three o’clock in the morning. Three o’clock in the morning is no time for singing. That’s the only thing Harry is sure of right now.

It’s not like he doesn’t recognize the singing, either. It would be pretty sad if he didn’t recognize the singing when it’s coming from inside the bus, from someone he sings with on a regular basis.

Actually, it kind of sounds like karaoke. Harry is definitely not in the mood for karaoke. He heaves a sigh, practically falling out of his bunk at he attempts to get up, and follows the sound of singing to the lounge.

As expected, Louis and Zayn are sprawled out over the couches, telly on to a music channel, singing along to the songs at what feels like the tops of their lungs. It’s probably not actually at the top of their lungs, but Harry isn’t feeling all that gracious right now.

Seriously. Three in the morning.

“Seriously?” he asks, bracing himself against the closest wall as the bus goes over a patch of rough road, trying to find his balance. “You guys know what time it is, right?”

Louis pushes himself up onto his knees. It takes him a minute to do it, and it’s undeniably clumsy, a sure sign that they’ve been smoking. “H,” he says, wide blue eyes solemn and sincere, “We’re very sorry. Aren’t we, Zayn?”

“Very sorry,” Zayn echoes, monotone as he inhales from the joint in his hand.

They’d be easier to believe if this wasn’t the third time this has happened this week. Harry crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at Louis, and tries very hard to ignore how much he feels like his mum.

“Are you going to stop now?” Harry presses. He knows how this goes – if he doesn’t press they’re just going to start up again in five minutes, and then he’ll be even more irritated. It’s not a good look on any of them.

“I have a better idea,” Louis says, holding his arms out, inviting. “Why don’t you join us? We can even do _Don’t Stop Believin’_ if you want.”

Oh, sure, any time Harry wants to do Journey during karaoke he gets booed, but when Louis suggests it it’s just fine. Typical.

“I hope you realize how much you’re irritating me right now,” Harry says. The air conditioning is turned up high back here, probably to help dissipate some of the smoke, and it’s making his nipples cold. Another thing to be annoyed about.

Louis scrambles off the couch, stumbling as he crosses the distance between him and Harry. “Time to put you back to sleep,” he announces, taking a hold of Harry’s arm and trying to push him back in the direction of the bunks.

Harry goes, but only because there’s a pretty good chance he can trick Louis into forgetting about the karaoke altogether. And once Louis is gone Zayn will just fall asleep anyway, so it’s a win-win situation.

Louis pushes him all the way to his bunk, patting Harry’s shoulder as Harry climbs into it, looking entirely too proud of himself for Harry’s liking. “There, don’t you feel better now that you’re all cozy and warm again?”

How Louis thinks he’s cozy and warm when he’s lying on top of his blankets, Harry has no idea. It’s probably just one of those things that Louis’ brain does when he’s high.

“I’m actually freezing,” Harry says. It’s a lie. “It’s really cold in here.”

Louis frowns, considering. If he wasn’t baked he would probably tell Harry to put a shirt on, or to get under the blankets, but high Louis’ brain doesn’t work like that. Instead, he climbs into the bunk with Harry, curling up close to him. And yeah, Harry was lying about being freezing, but it’s nice regardless. Louis’ probably stealing more of his body heat than he’s actually giving to Harry, but it feels good. Cozy.

A couple of minutes go by. Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ back, half so he doesn’t roll out of the bunk and half so he doesn’t start squirming, and lets his eyes drift closed.

Louis’ voice breaks the silence before Harry can actually fall asleep. “Are you very mad at me?”

Harry squeezes Louis’ waist gently. “I’m a little annoyed,” he allows, because Louis might be high but that doesn’t mean he can’t tell when Harry’s anything other than happy.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Louis says decisively. Harry hums an answer, so past the point of caring. Louis is soft and quiet against him and that’s really all Harry wanted.

 

Harry forgets all about Louis’ statement. It’s not the first time Louis has been annoying with late night shenanigans and it won’t be the last time. Harry doesn’t have to like it, but he is resigned to it. Puts a stop to it when he can and deals with it when he can’t. It’s just a part of his life now, same as performing in front of thousands of people is.

He forgets about it right up until his phone vibrates with a message from Louis. There’s a video attached to the message, and Harry doesn’t think twice about pressing the play button.

Turns out he really should have, because the video is porn. It’s not the first time Louis has sent him porn – he likes to think he’s funny – but it’s the first time the porn has starred someone Harry knows. It’s the first time the porn has starred Louis.

Harry spares a second to be grateful that Louis decided to wait until after the show and the post-show celebration to send the video. He’s alone in his hotel room, and the timing of that can’t be a coincidence. It must be intentional.

That’s all it is, though. Just a second to be grateful that he’s alone, because the video is already playing. On the screen, Louis is in his bunk on the bus, completely naked and making low, throaty sounds. The angle is terrible, cramped and dark, making it hard to really be able to see anything.

Harry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth sinking into it as he watches. His shoulder twinges, protesting the angle he’s holding his phone at, but that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the way Louis is moving on the screen, body twisting as he presses the dildo deeper into his arse.

He’s lying on his back, right arm twisted underneath his thigh, cock hard between his thighs, and Harry’s cock throbs an echoing beat back at the screen. “You pretty little bastard,” he murmurs, shifting a little so he can grab at his cock. One of the best things about hotel nights is being able to sleep naked without anyone else getting indignant about it, so grabbing himself is easy, jacking himself a couple of times roughly before falling into a rhythm, one that’s almost in tune with Louis’ on the screen.

It’s impossible to tell when Louis even filmed this. He didn’t have any time today, Harry knows that much for sure, which must mean he filmed it before. Which must mean that it’s something he was thinking about before, thinking about letting Harry see him when he’s like this, stuffed full and so fucking turned on.

The pace Louis is fucking himself with is steady but not slow. Not fast, either, but definitively not slow, like he wants to get off and he knows exactly how he wants to get there. He can’t move around too much in the bunk, limiting how deep he can fuck himself with the toy, and that makes Harry wonder exactly _why_ he chose to do it in his bunk. _When_ he did it, if any of the other boys were around at the time. If his quiet noises are because he was trying to keep himself quiet or if that’s just how he sounds when he’s getting fucked.

Harry’s thinking it’s probably the first option. Louis is never quiet, it doesn’t make any sense to think he’d be quiet during sex. If anything he’d be louder. More intense.

Louis makes a sharp, almost startled noise. It goes directly to Harry’s cock, so much so he has to squeeze himself tight just in case. The video is still dark, a lot darker than Harry wants it to be, so he can barely make out the clench of Louis’ abs as he shudders, going still for a second so brief Harry almost thinks he’s imagined it. He makes a mental note to go back later and watch those few seconds again, because he thinks – he’s pretty sure that Louis just knocked the toy against his prostate and wasn’t expecting it, and that reaction is something Harry wants to watch on repeat for the rest of his life.

Right now he can’t make himself let go of his cock for long enough to scroll the video back. Right now all he can do is watch, open mouthed and panting against his pillow as Louis twists on his sheets, rumpled beneath his body, eyelids fluttering closed as he gets closer to the edge. It’s nothing close to what he sounds like on the phone, which makes it more intimate, somehow, like this is something that’s for himself but something he wants to share with Harry at the same time.

Harry can’t think about that for too long, not if he wants to see the rest of the video. And he does want to see the rest of the video. Almost desperately, he wants to see the rest of the video.

As if Louis is thinking along the same lines that Harry is, his free hand fumbles across the sheets for a second before curving up to take a hold of his cock. There’s a slight glisten on the screen, like lube, and Harry bites down on his lip harder, wanting to know whether it’s the lube from when Louis fingered himself open – because he has to have fingered himself open, there’s no way he could take Harry’s cock without any prep – or if it’s extra, lube to make his cock wetter, make the glide smoother.

With a hand on his cock, it’s as though Louis is struggling to keep fucking himself with the pace he’d started out. He gets slower, less careful, and it doesn’t look as good. It’s still doing the job, obviously, but it’s not as good. Harry’s sure.

If there was someone there with him Louis wouldn’t even need the dildo, really. Someone who could fuck him without Louis having to do any of the work, someone with a cock the right size for him. Someone whose cock Louis is already used to having inside of him. Harry thinks Louis would like that.

Louis’ noises get the tiniest bit louder. His hand is fast, rubbing his cock, and his eyes are squeezed closed now, lips parted, and he looks so fucking good, sweat dampening his hairline at the edges, collecting in the dip of his belly, in the hollow of his throat. He squeezes his thighs together, making it all but impossible to see the clutch of his arse surrounding the dildo, but it’s okay because he’s coming.

He’s coming. On the screen of Harry’s phone, Louis is coming.

Here, in real life, so is Harry.

He’ll have to re-watch the entire video later. He misses most of Louis’ orgasm, too focused on his own, despite his attempts to keep his gaze glued to the screen. It’s too pretty, too overwhelming. All the times they’ve talked each other through it over the phone, Harry had no idea it would be _this_ fucking pretty.

Louis is so pretty when he comes.

“Holy fuck,” Harry croaks out eventually. His hand is sticky with his own quickly drying come, toes still tingling with the force of his orgasm, and the only feeling he has, deep in his gut, is hot satisfaction.

Unbelievable.

It takes a few more minutes before he gathers his wits enough to text Louis back. He’s always been pretty honest, especially with Louis, but orgasms make him even more so, which is why, instead of anything else, he writes _you’re so pretty when you come_.

It’s not like it’s not the truth.

Louis replies with _tell me something I don’t know_.

Tell him something he doesn’t know. There’s plenty of things Harry could tell him that he doesn’t know, but none of them are coming to mind right now.

_Don’t know what I did to deserve that, but whatever it was must have been fucking amazing because that was incredible_ he sends next. He has a half a mind to call Louis just to tell him that again, just to make sure that he really gets it. 

Before he can, his phone is vibrating with Louis’ answer. _That was just an apology for being a dick last night_.

If that was an apology for being a dick, Harry’s going to have to put plans in motion to make Louis feel like he’s been a dick more. Hardcore porn has nothing on that video.

_You’re amazing_ , Harry texts, fingers going heavy with sleep. He’s surprised he hasn’t fallen asleep already.

Louis’ reply is just as quick as the rest of them have been. _Uh, you’re disgusting, go to sleep already_.

Harry’s going to, whether he likes it or not. First, he makes sure that he types out _going to get you a surprise as good as that one was for me_ , just to make sure Louis really knows how much he liked it.

He falls asleep before Louis answers.

 

“Hey,” Louis says, climbing across Niall’s lap so he can sit between him and Harry, kicking his feet up onto the table in front of them. 

“Why is it that whenever we have a film on you appear out of nowhere and eat ninety percent of the popcorn?” Harry asks, swatting at Louis’ hand as he goes to take a handful out of the bowl.

Undeterred, Louis snatches up his handful and crams it into his mouth, mumbling, “If we can’t go to the movies like normal human beings I at least want to have me popcorn made me for, H, that’s why. Right, Neil?” around it.

Niall doesn’t answer. Probably because he’s the one who made the popcorn in the first place. Or because he’s actually watching the movie. Either one would be a good reason.

Louis sighs, dramatic and over the top like usual, as though he isn’t used to the way Niall watches movies, and curls up against Niall’s side, going quiet. It’s a rare occurrence, and it’s probably only happening because Niall yells at him when he talks too much during movies.

Still. Harry squeezes Louis’ knee and offers him some of the popcorn. 

 

The videos keep coming. Not on a regular basis, but regular enough. The videos, the pictures, the phone calls, they all keep happening.

They all include the dildo. The clone of Harry’s cock. It’s a prominent feature in everything, in every photo, in every video, and it’s hot, it is, being able to see Louis taking it. It’s hot. It’s a turn on.

It doesn’t create a weird feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach at all.

 

“Tell me,” Harry says, stumbling over himself as he tries to kick off his jeans with his shoes still on, banging his elbow against the wall in the process. It smarts, but he barely notices it, too focused on getting naked as fast as possible. Feels like he’s been hard for forever.

Louis hisses, sounds like he’s having the same problem. “Christ, Harry, can’t you wait a minute?” he complains. He can’t hide the eagerness in his voice, just as impatient as Harry is.

Harry finally succeeds in getting his jeans off, kicking his shoes off in the process. He winds up stumbling down onto the bed as a result, but that’s okay. It doesn’t take much to get his pants off from there, leaving him completely naked, cock hard and curving towards his belly. He wants to get a hand around himself, squeeze until he’s coming, gasping and helpless to avoid it, but more than that he wants to _hear_.

“No,” Harry tells him, sheets already getting tangled under him as he squirms, shoving a pillow under his head to prop himself up a bit. “Tell me.”

“I have to open myself up first,” Louis says. Clothes rustle in the background. Clearly he hasn’t been as quick as Harry was in getting naked. “I can’t just pop down on it without any prep, and you don’t want to hear that.”

Harry licks his bottom lip, unable to resist taking himself in hand any longer. There’s lube in his bag but that’s way too far, all the way on the other side of the room. “Try me.”

“I - what?” Louis says, faltering. He must not have been expecting it, and now that it’s out there he doesn’t know what to do with it. Which means he must not have been paying close enough attention, because Harry wants to hear how Louis opens himself up for it, how many fingers he uses, whether he can rub them against his prostate or if they’re too small for that, how good he can make himself feel in the process.

Details. Harry wants to hear the details.

Maybe it’s some form of taking pity on him. Harry helps him get started, says, “You start with one, right? Put it inside of yourself and wiggle it around until you’ve made enough space for a second one? How long does it take.”

Breathless, Louis complains, “You’re using your sex voice already, that’s unfair.”

Harry hadn’t even realized it. He is, though, tone dropped unconsciously to that register it gets when he’s turned on and just wants to get his mouth on someone. If Louis was here right now, in this room, Harry wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting his mouth on him. Mouth to mouth at first, definitely. Louis never really kisses with an audience, and when he does it’s quick, short pecks rather than real snogs, so Harry has no idea how he actually kisses. Whether it’s fierce and bitey or sweet and pliant. Whether he takes control or gives it up. If he’s quiet or makes noises. 

He makes noises. He definitely makes noises.

“Yeah, baby, I am using my sex voice,” Harry agrees. Doesn’t believing in lying about something so obvious. “You know why? Because I want to know how long it takes before you can fit two fingers into that sweet little arse of yours.”

There’s a sharp inhale, dramatic and loud. Louis probably doesn’t even mean for it to be so obvious, just comes out like that and he can’t stop it.

Yeah, he _definitely_ makes noises.

“I,” Louis starts, and Harry can picture the way he licks at his bottom lip after the word, haltingly, unintentionally teasing. “I don’t like to wait. Always wanna get it in me so I rush the fingering, sometimes.”

That is - so not a surprise, Louis being as impatient when it comes to sex as he is for everything else. It turns Harry on that much more, that every little bit of Louis just makes _sense_ to him. Every part of him fits the way Harry expects him to.

“Take your time,” Harry says abruptly. All of a sudden he wants to hear it, every gasp and moan Louis can’t help letting out when he’s got his fingers inside of himself, curling, stroking all the best spots. Wants to hear it more than he wants to listen while Louis sinks down onto the dildo, and that’s saying something. “Nice and slow this time, baby, let me hear how desperate you get for it.”

There’s an inhale, followed almost immediately by a loud exhale. Rustling, like Louis is moving. Getting himself into position.

“Tell me,” Harry repeats, leaning back against the pillows and stroking himself once, twice. “Are you on your back or your belly?”

“Belly,” Louis says, quiet. “I can’t - it’s too hard to get a good angle when I’m on my back. Feels better when I’m on me belly.”

Harry’s cock is so hard it’s like an actual, physical ache. “Do you have them in yet?”

“One,” Louis says.

One. He’s got one finger inside of himself and he sounds perfectly fine, like it’s a minor inconvenience and nothing more. It’s not the way he should sound when there’s something inside of him, not the way he _normally_ sounds when there’s something inside him. Harry would know.

That won’t do.

“Show me,” Harry says, only half aware that it comes out like an order. He wants to see, _needs_ to see so he knows how to make it better. How to make it amazing.

There’s no response. There is, however, the sound of movement as Louis goes to obey, then the buzz of Harry’s phone against his ear. 

It’s a picture. More specifically, it’s a picture of Louis naked on a bed, lying on his belly, shot over his shoulder and focused on his arse. His arse with one finger tucked up inside of it.

It’s not the best angle, so it’s more of an illusion than the actual visual. Harry’s breath still catches in his throat, looking at it. It’s fucking _gorgeous_.

“Did you get it?” Louis’ voice is tinny, far away. Belatedly, Harry pulls the phone back up to his ear.

“You’re gorgeous,” Harry breathes. Grips his cock tight for a second, just in case. “How does it feel.”

Try as he might, he can’t manage to get the sentence to come out as a question.

“Like I want a second one,” Louis says, nearly a whine. “I just want to sit on it, Harry, this is taking so long.”

“You’re lucky I’m not there with you, then,” Harry murmurs, closing his eyes and stroking his cock again. He can almost picture it, what it would be like if he was there. “I’d make you take one until you were begging me for another.”

“You’re talking about an entirely different situation now,” Louis huffs. He’s sounding less and less turned on by the second, and Harry isn’t. He’s still turned on, still wants to come just as bad as he did when he walked into the room.

“No,” Harry disagrees. “Still going to make you wait for it, make you take your time, even if I’m not there with you. And you’re gonna do it, baby, aren’t you. For me.”

It’s still not a question.

“If you were here they’d be your fingers, though,” Louis says, petulant.

For a second, Harry stops breathing altogether. “It wouldn’t be as boring if you were the one doing it,” Louis continues, and Harry thinks, somewhat frantically, that he needs to remember how to breathe. Breathing is important.

“Why not?”

It feels important, knowing the answer to this particular question. Vital.

“H,” is all Louis says, and Harry can picture him, squirming on the bed, phone on speaker and one finger still inside of his own arse, trying to resist the temptation to put another one in before Harry says he’s allowed.

Harry’s cock leaks a little, dribbling through his fingers and onto his belly. “Why not?” he repeats, insistent.

“Your hands,” Louis says, a little dreamy. Like he’s spent a lot of time thinking about them. Looking at them. “You’ve got big hands. Strong. Could hold me down and spread me open at the same time without even trying.”

“Is that what you want?” Harry asks. “To be held down and spread open?”

He can hear Louis swallow. “You’d be good at it,” Louis says. 

It’s not exactly an agreement. Not exactly what Harry wants to hear. He presses, “Is that what you like? Someone bigger than you, someone stronger than you to hold you down, make you take whatever they want to give you?”

Louis’ breathing hitches. Harry gives himself another squeeze, the picture behind his closed eyelids vivid, distracting. The mental image of Louis in a bed somewhere, on his knees, dildo sitting just right inside of him, fingers trembling as he tries to jerk himself off, overwhelmed by the feelings, by the sound of Harry’s voice in his ear.

“I want,” Louis says, helpless, lost.

“You want me to tell you?” Harry asks.

The noise Louis makes is gratifying. “Yes.”

“I think you do want that,” Harry says. He has to swallow against a sudden rush of saliva at the thought. “I think you want me to just press you down against the bed and make you stay there while I decide what to give you. I think that you don’t even care what it is as long as some part of me ends up inside of you.”

It’s Harry’s turn to take a break, to pause, suck in a much needed breath. “I want to put _everything_ in you,” he confides in a rush.

It’s only a split second before Louis speaks. “Even the dildo?”

The question comes out a little wry. Harry’s a little offended - Louis having the capacity to be wry while Harry’s trying to get him off isn’t exactly how Harry likes these things to go. “I’d start with my fingers,” he says.

“No kidding,” Louis interrupts, and Harry’s reminded that Louis has been so good, sitting there with only one finger inside of himself, resisting the urge to add a second one before Harry tells him he can.

He’s done it with some degree of impatience, but that’s just Louis. He does everything with some degree of impatience, and the fact that he’s not sitting there whining about it means Harry should probably reward him.

Harry should definitely reward him.

“Be quiet,” he orders first, because no good ever comes of letting Louis think he’s had the last word. “Give yourself another finger. Just one more.”

“I - ” Louis says.

“Before I change my mind,” Harry says. He doesn’t even mean for it to come out firm but it does. Firm and immovable. Relentless.

Louis inhales deeply, and Harry can’t actually hear him putting the second finger in but he knows it’s happening anyway. Somehow, Harry just knows. His mouth waters, thinking about it. About Louis spread out on a bed with two fingers tucked up inside himself now, obeying Harry’s instructions, no matter how reluctantly he does it.

Again, Harry’s cock pulses.

“There’s a good boy,” Harry says, just for the indignant, breathless sound Louis makes in return. “Now fuck yourself with them. Open yourself up. Tell me how it feels.”

Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be considered a lot of instructions. These are far from normal circumstances, though, and for a second Harry thinks that Louis isn’t going to follow them all. Is so far gone that he’s not _capable_ of following them all.

“It feels better,” Louis says, voice hushed. “Like I’m already more full. It feels good.”

“Could you get off like that?” Harry asks, interested. “Just two fingers inside your arse, nothing else?”

It’s a thought he’s never had before. It’s an idea he’s suddenly really interested in, the thought that Louis could get himself off without needing to touch his cock.

Harry wants to see him try.

Louis’ inhale is ragged. “I don’t know,” he says, except it comes out more like a gasp. “Never - never tried.”

It’s a thought for another time. Harry pushes it to the back of his head, focusing on the way Louis sounds, overwhelmed and needy. He can hear the thread of arousal in Louis’ voice, high and bare, and they’ve been doing this for long enough now that he knows it means Louis is ready to come.

Past ready to come.

“It’s okay, baby,” Harry says, hushing him. Remembers to keep stroking his own cock. “You can put a third finger in now.” Waits a handful of seconds, long enough to be sure that Louis has done it. “Spread them. You can do it fast, but make sure you do it thoroughly.”

Can’t allow Louis to hurt himself. Harry might be holding onto his rationality with the world’s thinnest thread, but he’s always going to make sure that Louis isn’t going too fast and hurting himself.

“I want it now,” Louis says, but it’s less sulky this time, more raw. Honest. Truthful, even. He’s had enough time to do it, spread himself out, make enough room to take Harry’s cock inside of himself, and if there’s only one time he ever listens to Harry it’s times like these.

Still, though, Harry’s going to make sure. Has to make sure. “Did you do it?”

“Mm,” Louis agrees, the sound coming from deep in his throat. “Got - got three in me now.”

Harry wants to ask for another picture. He really, really wants to ask for another picture, wants to see how tight Louis’ hole is stretched around three fingers, but he’s incredibly familiar with Louis’ impatient noises and Louis’ noises have long since gotten impatient.

Harry’s a little impatient himself, to tell the truth.

“Okay,” he says, barely refraining from saying _good_. Tries to save that for after Louis has come, when he’s less likely to be snarky about it. “Take them out and put the dildo in instead. Put it under you and sink down on it nice and slow. Don’t go too fast, baby, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees faintly. There’s an even fainter sound as he slips his fingers out of his hole, lining up the dildo and sinking down onto it just as slowly as Harry told him to.

The sounds that Louis makes as he’s filled up with the toy, inch by inch, they’re like heaven. The only way it would be better is if Harry could actually _see_ him doing it. See the expressions that cross Louis’ face as he gets filled up, the expression of unwavering satisfaction. That would be something.

“How does it feel?”

Louis’ response takes a minute to come. “Full,” he says softly. “It feels - ” He stops to swallow, the sound audible even across the phone line. “It feels like I’m full of you.”

_Like I’m full of you_. The words sound like the best song Harry’s ever heard, complete with the genuine rasp in Louis’ voice. “That’s real good, baby,” Harry answers, unable to stop himself any longer. He’s never really able to curb his desire to tell Louis exactly how good he’s being for long. “Why don’t you start moving now, Lou. Slow and deep, yeah? Just how you like it.”

“Yeah,” Louis echoes, and Harry can’t see it, the way he looks when he rides the dildo Harry gave him, but he can picture it. He can’t stop picturing it, doesn’t want to ever stop. It’s a gorgeous image, beautiful. Obscene. 

So fucking obscene. Especially with the _noises_.

That’s all they are though. Just noises. He’s not talking, Louis, breathing hard and fast as he rides the dildo, and that’s never going to be enough for Harry. Not when he can have Louis’ voice in his ear, describing how it feels as he gets himself off on Harry’s cock. Not when he can make Louis narrate exactly what it is he likes so much about sitting on this particular cock.

Harry’s very interested in that.

“You like it, baby?” Harry asks, digging his thumb into the head of his cock, trying to stave off his orgasm for a little while longer. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Feels so fucking good,” Louis responds immediately, the words coming out a little slurred, and an image pops into Harry’s head, one that’s downright filthy. One of Louis with the dildo nestled up inside of his arse, weight resting on his elbows as he bends down over Harry’s lap to suck him off.

Spitroasting. Harry’s always been a fan.

“You know that’s not good enough for me,” Harry says, managing to get the words out somehow, even while his brain is stuck on that one image. “Be specific.”

“Feels like you’re hitting every good spot inside of me without even having to be here,” Louis says. There’s no hesitation in his words, no pause as he thinks about what he wants to say, just syllables tumbling out of his mouth, trusting that Harry won’t use them against him.

Harry would never use them against him. It’s still an insane amount of trust to have in someone.

He wets his lips, allowing his eyes to drift closed as he thinks about the possibilities. There’s an endless amount of possibilities, so many things that Louis would like, so many things Harry could do. “Love how much you love it,” he says, instead of any of the dirty things in his head. “Never would have been able to guess how much of a cockslut you are.”

Louis’ breathing is still fast and ragged. Harry can almost picture him, down to every last detail, the mess of his hair, the flush in his cheeks, the hammer of his pulse in his throat. Louis has never shown up after a night of sex with any visible marks on his skin, but Harry thinks, under the right circumstances, under a very specific set of circumstances, Louis wouldn’t say no.

“Aw, babe, don’t call me those kinds of names unless you’re here to show me you really mean them,” Louis says, low and sultry. Harry’s own pulse jumps, blood skyrocketing through every vein in his body. It’s a shock.

It’s not that Louis doesn’t give as good as he gets during these calls. He’s bratty and demanding and knows what he likes, isn’t afraid to ask for it. He’s all of those things, even outside of these situations, but he’s different than he normally is. Lets Harry take the lead, waits for it, even, more or less content to listen to Harry spew filth in his ear. Spills his own filth right back, but it’s never been like this.

Somehow, it’s never been like this.

For a minute, Harry can’t think of anything to say. His brain has gone dead in his head, a useless weight, doing him no good.

“You know I don’t take kindly to those kinds of names unless you’re here to back them up,” Louis continues, still using that low, sultry voice, and Harry likes it. His cock has taken a very special liking to it.

Still, though. If there’s one thing that Harry is better at than Louis, it’s this. Phone sex. And he’s not going to lose his title just because Louis threw him off a bit. That’s not going to happen.

“Okay, baby,” he says, adopting that same tone, “I’ll wait until we’re together again to remind you. In the meantime, do you want to come?”

It’s direct, straight to the point. Time to stop beating around the bush.

“Yes,” Louis says.

“See, sweetheart, here’s the thing,” Harry muses, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock, telling himself _a few more minutes. Just a few more_. “You’ve been sassing me this entire time like I’m not the one who says when you can come, and I’m not sure that I’m feeling charitable right now.”

There’s a sharp inhale, and the quiet rustling sounds in the background go silent. Louis has stopped moving, then.

Good.

“You – ” Louis starts, and Harry doesn’t have to actually hear the rest of the sentence to be able to guess how it’s going to end. _You can’t be serious_ or _you can’t stop me_ or _you’re not in charge of me_ , something along those lines.

No matter which one it is, it’s wrong.

“You can finish that sentence or you can try to convince me that you deserve to come,” Harry interrupts simply. It’s not something they’ve ever really talked about – Harry’s in charge when it comes to this, sure, but it’s always been by unspoken agreement. Not something they’ve ever actually discussed. And this – this is pushing it beyond that. This is more than just being in charge. This is something a little deeper, something that isn’t even going to happen every time. Something that requires such a high level of trust.

He knows that Louis isn’t going to say no. Not because he can’t – if there’s something Louis has to be the best at, it’s probably saying no – but because Louis doesn’t want to. He wants this. Harry can feel it.

“I can be good,” Louis says. He’s dropped the sultry tone for his normal sex tone, and that’s just as good. As hard as the sultry tone had hit, Harry loves the normal sex tone too. It would be impossible to tell which one he likes more.

“I know you can,” Harry agrees. “Now prove it.”

A second of silence passes. Then the rustling starts again, a sure sign that Louis has started moving, that he’s pushing himself up onto his knees until the dildo is almost all the way out of him and letting himself drop back down onto it until every inch is buried inside of him, pleasuring himself in the way only a cock inside of him can make him feel.

“What do you want me to say?” Louis asks, making no effort to disguise the frustration in his voice. Harry bites back a moan and starts jerking himself off in earnest. “There’s nothing that feels like having this hunk of plastic inside me does, and I know you were joking when you gave it to me but it’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

That’s _exactly_ what Harry wanted him to say and he hadn’t even known it.

“That’s good,” Harry says. “Put your hand on your cock.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Louis hisses out, and Harry couldn’t agree more.

“You can come whenever you want, baby,” Harry says, squeezing his eyes tighter as his own orgasm builds in the base of his cock, in his belly. “Just – _fuck_ – send me a picture after you do, alright? That’s the only rule. You can come whenever you want as long as you do that.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. Instead, he makes a bunch of noises, the sweet, desperate ones that mean he’s coming.

Christ, what a beautiful boy. Harry doesn’t even need the picture to know that.

Louis has always sounded obscene when he comes. His noises are all it takes to have Harry following him over the edge, bliss overtaking every one of his nerves as he comes, images flashing behind his closed eyelids too fast to take any notice of.

Everything is a little hazy, after. Harry opens his eyes but it takes a minute to be able to see properly, blinking up at the ceiling lazily. There’s barely any noise coming from Louis’ end of the line, only deep, slow breathing, and Harry honestly can’t tell whether he’s fallen asleep or not.

“Good night, baby,” he murmurs anyway, just in case Louis is awake enough to hear it. Just in case.

 

In the morning, Harry orders pancakes and bacon with Louis’ room number and doesn’t bother getting dressed as he pads down the hallway to intercept it. He lets himself in without bothering to knock, wheeling the room service cart in ahead of him, and flicks on a lamp near the doorway. Louis is still in bed, curtains drawn tight over the windows and duvet pulled up, half covering his face. He doesn’t stir even a little bit.

He’s probably not faking. He’s probably still tired from the show last night, and he’s probably even more tired from the _show_ last night. Harry ordered food, though, and he ordered too much to eat by himself.

He grabs a couple of plates and sets them down on the bed, careful to avoid the places Louis is sprawled out or likely to sprawl himself out, and joins him on the bed.

Louis makes a half-awake, questioning noise as Harry pulls him to his chest, easily malleable with sleep and willing to go wherever Harry puts him.

“I brought food,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ wrist through the duvet. Or what he assumes is Louis’ wrist, anyway. Could be another miscellaneous body part of some sort.

“You brought food at fuck o’clock in the morning,” Louis grumbles, wiggling like he’s trying to find a way to make their bodies become one, fuse them together for eternity. Probably so he’ll be able to stop Harry from waking him up in the morning ever again.

Pancakes, though. Who can say no to pancakes?

“There’s pancakes,” Harry says, steadying one of the plates as it threatens to tip over with the force of Louis’ wiggling.

“There could have been pancakes in three hours, too,” Louis says, but he’s finally stopped wiggling, settling with his back pressed up against Harry’s chest, duvet tangled around him.

Speaking of duvet. “Are you naked under there?” Harry asks, hooking a finger in a loose edge and trying to pull it down, see for himself.

Louis slaps his hand away, picking up the plate with the most bacon and hunching over it protectively. “None of your business,” he says, still grumbly.

That’s a yes, then. He’d been naked last night when he’d finally woken up enough to send Harry the picture he had asked for, all soft, smooth skin and come dried on his belly, eyes sleepy and hair tangled. Harry had saved the picture to the folder he has all the other pictures Louis has sent him saved to.

Satisfied, Harry lets go of the duvet altogether and picks up his own plate instead, not bothering with a fork as he crams an entire piece of bacon into his mouth, chewing happily. There’s nothing better than pancakes and bacon after an epic round of phone sex.

“Do you want to try to go out today?” Harry asks, not bothering to finish chewing first. “Niall wants to see if we can rent some go-karts.”

Louis groans, head falling back against Harry’s shoulder with an audible thunk. He lets the fork clatter down onto the plate. “I want to _sleep_ ,” he says. “Seriously, why did you have to wake me up so early?”

It’s almost noon already. Wisely, Harry does not point that out. Instead, he says something almost as stupid. “Wanted to make sure you remember what a good little cockslut you are.”

Faster than Harry can blink, Louis bites him. Harry had it coming, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not going to defend himself, and in the ensuing struggle most of the food becomes a casualty.

 

The next picture Louis sends him is in front of a mirror, bent over so the dildo nestled between his arse cheeks is on display even more than it usually is. Harry grits his teeth and doesn’t even jerk off to the photo. He’s just saving it for later, is all.

 

Harry is no stranger to entering a room only to find Louis rummaging through his stuff. It’s happened countless times before, and it’ll probably happen countless more times throughout the course of their lives.

Just because Harry’s used to it happening doesn’t mean he has to like it, though. He leans up against a wall and crosses his arms over his chest, watching. There’s no telling what Louis is looking for – sometimes it’s an item that has next to no probability of being in Harry’s bag in the first place.

Louis doesn’t make any indication whatsoever that he knows Harry is behind him. Harry waits a few more seconds with the same result. “Are you looking for something in particular or do you just enjoy making me re-fold all my clothes?”

Louis doesn’t jump, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. “I lost my deodorant somewhere in New York and I haven’t been able to find it yet.”

New York was two days ago. Harry would point that out, except he’s not entirely sure he wants to hear what Louis has been doing in the meantime. Knowing him, it’s probably something that’s going to end up getting Harry into trouble along with him.

Finding deodorant isn’t something that would normally get someone into trouble, but it’s Louis. He has a way of getting himself into trouble for the most ridiculous things.

“You could have been new deodorant anywhere between New York and here,” Harry points out. Logically, he thinks.

Louis makes a triumphant noise and straightens up, clutching a stick of deodorant in his hand. “But then what would I do with mine when I find it?” He sounds guileless and innocent, which is sure way to tell that he’s fucking with Harry. As a rule, Louis is never guileless or innocent.

Harry doesn’t have an answer to that which isn’t going to end with food colouring in his shampoo again, so he says nothing. Louis uncaps the deodorant and makes to use it, except – “What the fuck, H, yours is done!”

Yeah, Harry had used the last of it this morning. He’s not sorry. “Uh, you’re a constant disappointment,” Louis mutters, throwing the tube back down onto Harry’s bag. “I’m going to have to go steal Liam’s now, look what you’ve made me do.”

He spins around on his heel and marches towards the door, clearly intent on doing just that. Harry catches his wrist before he can get there and pulls him off balance. “Or we could just go and buy some now and get ice cream after,” Harry suggests.

Louis makes a show of sulking, but he lets Harry guide him towards the door and out to a shop. Ice cream. Never fails.

 

“Nah,” Harry says, rolling onto his side so he doesn’t have to hold the phone up any more. “If I was there I would cuddle you, first. Know how you get when you’re cold. Have to make sure you’re warm enough first.”

Louis snorts. “What, do you think sex doesn’t warm me up or something? I’m not a vampire, you freak.”

It must be the sleep deprivation that makes Harry laugh. Louis really isn’t that funny. “I’d lie on you,” Harry says, closing his eyes. “Pin you down to the bed.”

Louis’ laughter is slightly hysterical, bursting out of him like he can’t stop it. Harry grins to himself, needlessly pleased, and rubs his fingers absently against the sheets. He doesn’t even know how they got to this point in the conversation - Louis had called him about an hour ago to complain about the dryer eating all of his socks, and somehow that morphed into this.

Harry’s not complaining.

“You weigh too much,” Louis complains, that thread of laughter still in his voice. Harry loves it when he sounds like that, happy and fulfilled, and he especially loves it when Louis sounds like that because of him. “You’d crush me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Harry insists, flexing his toes. Last night he woke up with an agonizing leg cramp and the last thing he wants is a repeat performance of that. “God, you’re being so negative, Louis. Let me tell you.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Louis says, sighing dramatically. It sounds like he’s moving around a lot, shifting on the bed. If Harry was there he would make him stop with a hand on the small of his back. Make him sit still for once.

Or lie still, as the case may be.

“I’d start slow,” Harry says, eyes closed, thinking about it. “Know how quick you get hot for it but I’d make you wait, work up to it - ”

“Jesus,” Louis says, faint.

Undeterred, Harry continues, “Kiss you. A lot. Sweet and slow and deep, touch you all over. Skim my hands down your arms, over your chest. Your bum.”

“You wanna get in,” Louis says breathlessly.

Harry slips his hand down, fingers circling around his cock. Sleeping naked has never seemed like a better idea. “Mm, baby, ‘course I do,” he agrees easily, stroking himself slow and soft. “You know what you look like.”

The soft hitch of Louis’ breathing in his ear comes across the line as clear as if Louis was actually here, in bed with him. Harry thinks about what that would be like wistfully. At the moment, he can’t imagine anything better.

“But what if you couldn’t,” Louis says, quiet. 

Interest piqued, Harry says, “Why not?”

“You know why,” Louis says, quieter. Like this is just for the two of them and he doesn’t want to risk anyone overhearing.

Harry does know why. He thinks about that piece of plastic, that one that’s currently tucked up safe and sound inside Louis’ arse, keeping him full. The one that Louis said is _the perfect size_ last time, albeit teasingly and after he’d already come and pulled it out.

If it was _really_ the perfect size he would have been content to leave it in for a while after. Privately, Harry thinks that it’s probably an inch too big for him, maybe two. Every time he has the thought a little thrill goes through him, dark and pervasive. It’s probably not a good thing, but the idea that Louis likes it to hurt a little and Harry’s cock is big enough to accomplish that is - compelling. 

Compelling. That’s one way to put it.

“If it was already inside you, you mean?” Harry asks. It could easily be a rhetorical question. He does already know the answer, after all.

It’s not. Maybe it’s another thing that isn’t so good, the way Harry will wait him out, force Louis to answer something he’s shown reluctance to. If Harry’s cock wasn’t hard and wanting in his hand he might feel a little bad.

He doesn’t.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, voice going sweet and lax, trusting. He trusts Harry to do this, not to push him too far. Just far enough. “If I already had a piece of you inside of me.”

“If you had already gotten yourself ready for me,” Harry says, pulling at his cock a little faster now. “Such a good boy, making sure I have room to fit.”

Louis’ breathing is coming as quick as Harry’s is, loud and clear across the line. “Don’t get distracted,” he says, and for a second Harry does get distracted. It sounds like a plea more than it sounds like an order, and that’s.

That’s hot.

“I’d already fit inside you,” Harry says, eyes closed, visualizing it. “There’d be room for me, wouldn’t have to work for it. Already made it so easy for me, baby.”

There’s something about the thought of it. Something that might be even more arousing than the actual visual of Louis on a bed somewhere with the dildo tucked up inside of him, fingers curled around his cock. Something about Louis wanting to make it easy for Harry, trying to fit them together faster.

Okay. Focus.

“But I wouldn’t,” Harry says, hushed. Just for them. “Not at first, anyway. You might be ready but I’m not. Wanna fuck you with it for a bit first, watch you take it.”

“But I want it,” Louis murmurs, sullen. Harry’s cock throbs a little harder at the sound, and it’s no surprise. If Harry was a little saner he probably wouldn’t be so turned on by Louis’ petulance - Louis is bratty and sulky when he doesn’t get his way, with Harry if with no one else, and years of it means Harry probably shouldn’t be turned on by it.

He is.

“I know,” Harry says. There’s a dull ache in his chest, the one that seems to grow with every mile there is between them. Lately it’s been flaring up especially hard during times like these, when Louis wants something and Harry isn’t there to give it to him. Absently, he thinks that the feeling probably means something, something that’s on the verge of imploding, and he can’t help but feel like that even more right now, with Louis in London and him all the way in L.A.

There’s a literal ocean in between them, and the distance has never felt so far before.

God, he knows it’s going to implode. Their relationship has been different for a long time now, and there’s only so much longer they can keep ignoring it for.

“And you’re not going to give it to me?” Louis asks. He’s not whining anymore, not really. Harry wants to touch him, wants to hold his head still and kiss him deep and long, so intense that he stops caring about getting fucked.

“I will,” Harry says, half aware of how it comes out, more of a promise than anything. “I am. Just going to have to wait a little longer, baby, you can do that for me, right?”

Louis’ agreement is soft and murmured, barely audible. Harry continues, “Just want to watch you for a bit. Already got some of me inside of you, want to watch how you take it. And you’re going to show me, right?”

“Yes,” Louis agrees instantly, breathlessly. He sounds like he’s about to come, and Harry’s right there with him, orgasm building low in his belly.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Never capable of being good for anyone else but you want to be good for me. You know how hot that makes me?”

He wants to hear what Louis has to say but he wants to make Louis come even more. It’s a dilemma with an obvious solution, so he continues over the sound of Louis’ agreement, “Just. Christ, wanna fuck you. Wanna watch the way you squirm when I’m fucking you with the dildo, see how it’s different from the way you move when I’ve got you on my cock. Want to kiss you until you come, taste it when you do. Don’t think I’d be able to get enough of it, the way you taste.”

There’s a sharp inhale, and then a long, low noise. The sound of Louis coming.

Fuck.

“H,” Louis says, whispers, and Harry comes, following Louis over the edge. Come gets everywhere, dripping across his hand, his stomach, his thighs, and for a second the only thing Harry can think about is how Louis would look covered in it instead. How Louis would look covered in Harry’s come.

“Lou,” Harry says, voice gone thick. There’s no answer, only silence. Louis must have fallen asleep, then, probably with the dildo still safe and sound inside of him. Harry should probably try to wake him up, get him to clean himself up before he crashes again.

He doesn’t. He drifts off to sleep still thinking about Louis messy with Harry’s come.

 

“Okay,” Louis says, face serious as he puts his closed fist on top of the pile of their hands, shoulders bare, tank threatening to slip down his arms again. He doesn’t seem to notice as he pushes their hands down, allowing them to push back up like they have hundreds of times before. “So here’s the plan for tonight, then. Liam, you’re going to act like you’re a firefighter helping a kitten out of a tree. Niall, it’s your job to hold the ladder steady while Liam goes up the tree to retrieve the kitten. Harry, you’re the kitten, and you’re not making it easy on Liam. Everybody understand their jobs?”

Harry would like to say that Louis’ pre-show pep talks have gotten weirder over the years, but the truth is that they’ve always been this weird. The first time they had one, way back at the X-Factor stage, Louis had told them all to pretend that they were Batman’s trainees, out for their first night of official crime fighting duty. So. Not really any less weird.

“What’s your job going to be?” Harry asks, the cross on his necklace caught between his teeth, making the words come out a little jumbled.

Louis huffs, rolling his eyes as he pushes their hands down again. “I’m Liam’s supervisor, there to evaluate his kitten saving performance. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Harry echoes, and Louis grins at him, bright and mischievous.

“Everyone got it? Good! Off to your stations, then!” With that, he bounds away. Harry watches him go with a warm, low tugging feeling in his gut.

 

So the phone sex is arousing, of course it is. There’s something about the sound of Louis’ voice as he gets himself off in the next room, something secretive and slightly illicit about it, that presses against every button Harry’s libido has. Like it’s something that’s between them, just for the two of them and no one else.

It’s not, though, and lately that’s been bothering Harry more and more. Or, well, he guesses it would be more accurate to say that it’s between the two of them and no one else but not _nothing_ else.

The dildo. It’s a main feature in all of their sexual interactions, and that makes sense. Obviously. It makes sense. It’s the reason they started doing this in the first place, of course it’s going to be part of it.

It’s just that lately, Harry’s been having a weird feeling about it. It’s almost like he’s jealous of it, except that would be crazy. That would be really crazy, right? It’s a clone of Harry’s cock, there’s literally no reason to be jealous of it. So what if it gets to be inside of Louis when Harry never actually has. That’s just Harry’s brain being weird and thinking that his cock should get to do everything his fake cock gets to do. There’s no reason for him to be jealous.

That would just be weird.

 

Aside from the obvious things like being able to do what he loves with the people he loves, one of the things Harry likes most about being on tour is hotel pools. They’ve stayed in some pretty swanky places, and those places have really nice pools, but there’s something to be said for the less nice ones, the hotels they stay in when they’re trying to be less obvious. The hotels that have pools but maybe aren’t the most posh ones anyone has ever seen. Those kind of pools.

That’s the kind of hotel they’re staying in now. That’s the kind of pool Harry is lounging in right now, and he has to admit that he appreciates the serenity of it. Hotel pools in the swanky places are usually filled with people who are there to see and be seen, not actually people who have come to enjoy the pool. Plus these kinds of hotels will usually accommodate their request to have the pool open at a certain time just for them while no one is the wiser. So it’s a pretty good trade off, Harry thinks.

It’s quiet. Water laps at the edges of the pool, and Harry floats on his back, eyes closed, skin going pruny. He’s been in here for a while now, although he’s not sure exactly how long it’s been. The rest of the boys are here, too, and Harry can hear them, but it’s distant. No one’s yelling, no one’s screaming, no one’s really horsing around trying to drown someone else. It’s exceedingly peaceful.

He thinks Zayn and Liam may be in the hot tub, and Louis and Niall are on the deck somewhere, talking about something. The lights are turned down low so they won’t be interrupted by anyone who happens to be passing by, and Harry can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed.

The tips of his toes brush against a wall. Harry tenses them, ready to push out, kick himself off the wall and go back to floating mindlessly. Fingers wrap around his ankle before he can, keeping him in place.

“Payno wants to watch one of the Batman films later, what do you say?” Louis says. 

Harry doesn’t bother opening his eyes, letting his fingers drift through the water aimlessly. “Later, yeah,” he agrees, and Louis lets go of his ankle, letting him drift away again.

 

“Seriously?” Harry says out loud, staring down at his completely empty bag, its contents spread out over the bed, no laptop in sight. He knows he didn’t leave it on the bus, and while it’s possible that it’s been stolen, he really doesn’t think so.

No, he’s pretty sure he knows what happened to it.

Louis picks up on the first ring, almost like he was sitting around waiting for Harry to call. “Do you even know what time it is right now?”

It’s barely even half past one. Louis has gone to sleep earlier than half past one a scant handful of times in the entire time Harry has known him.

“Do you have my laptop?” Harry asks, ignoring Louis’ question altogether. He’s really not in the mood – all he wants is to watch an episode or two of Game of Thrones and then go to bed. That’s all he wants. That’s not asking for too much, right?

“Yeah. I told you I was taking it earlier, don’t you remember?”

Harry groans, collapsing onto the bed face first, into a pile of clothes. He can’t even tell whether the clothes are clean, either. He does remember Louis saying he was going to take it, now.

There’s a slight pause. “Do you want to come get it?” Louis asks eventually. He sounds confused.

It’s only a thirty second walk down the hallway to Louis’ room. Right now, that thirty seconds feels more like thirty minutes.

“No,” Harry says, rolling onto his side. He’s already in bed, he’s not getting up again. Never mind that he’s lying on top of all of his clothes. Let them get wrinkled.

“Do you want me to bring it to you?” Louis ventures. Harry huffs, frustrated for absolutely no reason and mad at himself for it.

“No. I’m just in a bad mood, is all.” 

Bad mood. It’s a little bit of an understatement. Harry’s been in a sulk all day and he knows it, but try as he might he can’t seem to shake it. It’s just one of those days, he guesses.

“H,” Louis says, soft, sweet. “Do you want me to come over there?”

He doesn’t ask if Harry is okay. It’s probably evident by the tone of Harry’s voice that he’s not, and Louis has always been under the impression that everything can be made better by the right kind of hug. At least when it comes to Harry.

Harry wishes he could feel the same. He can’t, though, and he can’t shake this mood.

“No,” Harry says. Doesn’t want to drag Louis down into this funk with him. “I’m fine, Lou.”

It’s not quite the truth, but it’s not a lie, either. All it is is a bad mood. Everyone has bad moods for no reason sometimes, and given time and maybe some good sleep it’ll wear off.

Louis doesn’t call him out on it, which is weird. Louis makes it his life goal to call Harry out on his shit ninety-nine percent of the time. “Know what you need?” he asks instead, his tone conversational and easy.

Harry sighs, resigning himself to a much longer conversation than he originally intended on having. “What.” Just his laptop and some Game of Thrones, that’s all he wanted when this started.

“You need to hear about how nice your cock is,” Louis says, still easy, still conversational.

Like it’s a Pavlonian response, Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “Is that right.”

Try as he might, he can’t quite make it into a question.

“Mm,” Louis hums, breathing the sound into the phone, and Harry’s cock starts perking up, interested in that noise. It’s a familiar noise, a sexual noise, and it seems like no matter how tired or upset Harry is he’s going to have the same reaction to it.

Arousal.

“So tell me, then, if you think that’s what I need.”

It can’t hurt to hear about how much Louis likes his cock. Definitely can’t hurt.

“You want to hear something I’ve never told you before?” Louis murmurs instead, and it turns out that it doesn’t even matter what he’s saying as long as he’s saying it in a certain tone, because Harry’s cock is getting steadily harder, growing thick in his shorts. “Sometimes when I’m prepping myself I only use two fingers, even though I know it’s going to hurt when I’m ready to put it in.”

Harry’s cock throbs. Absently, he reaches down and presses his palm flat on top of the bulge of it. “You should – you should be more careful,” he says. Doesn’t matter how hot the idea of it is, only matters that Louis is being careful, that he’s not hurting himself.

“I like it like that,” Louis confesses, voice dropped down to barely more than a whisper. “When it hurts, just a little. When it feels like I’m being spread thin, like there’s just so much of you that just for a second I’m not sure that I can take it.”

The only thing Harry can do is breathe, open-mouthed and almost panting against his arm. His cock is fully hard now, begging for some skin to skin contact. “Just for a second,” Louis repeats, voice wavering so slightly Harry has to strain to hear it, still can’t identify what it might mean. “Maybe two. Usually can’t even remember that it’s only a piece of rubber, it feels so real.”

There’s something there, something that’s hiding behind the words, and Harry can’t figure out what it is. Wants to know what it is but it feels like – he’s pretty sure that if he asked Louis would just avoid the question. But it’s there. There’s something there.

“But you can,” Harry says, finding his voice again. Slips his right hand down into his shorts, not even bothering to attempt to pull them off. “Take it. You can always manage to take it, baby, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “Always wanna take it. Sometimes I’ll be going about my day and it’s all I can think about, can’t wait to get back to my room so I can get it inside me.”

Something twinges in Harry’s gut. It’s almost like a low, dull throb, trying to remind him of something he can’t quite put his finger on. Something that’s just the tiniest bit off.

He ignores it. “So impatient,” Harry says, a little chiding. Or it would be, if his breath didn’t get caught in his throat as he curls his fingers around his cock, gripping it tightly. “Love how much you love it, though. Are you hard?”

The answer has to be yes. There’s no way Louis isn’t hard right now. He has to be hard right now. Harry is.

“Yeah,” Louis says.

Good. “Are you touching yourself?”

Again, Louis agrees. Harry lets out a breath that’s almost like a sigh, pulling his fist down the length of his cock, just once. Just to tide him over. “Where.”

It still doesn’t come out like a question. Harry doesn’t even care.

“My cock,” Louis tells him. Harry blinks slowly, eyelids dragging, and for a second it’s almost like he can see it, Louis wanking. 

“Where else?” Harry asks, echoing the rhythm Louis has in his head on his own cock. Something that’s slow and steady but not too slow to hold back his orgasm.

Louis makes a soft noise. A soft, hiccupy little noise in the back of his throat. Harry’s cock leaks a little wetness. “Nowhere.”

He sounds like he’s telling the truth. Harry believes him, believes that Louis is too far gone to be able to effectively lie to him. So he’s only touching his cock, nothing else, and that’s all well and fine, except – 

“Do you want to be touching yourself somewhere else, too?”

Immediately, Louis replies, “Want it inside of me.”

It. The dildo. For a second Harry had forgotten about it altogether, and he’s hit with a completely irrational urge to tell Louis he can’t have it.

That wouldn’t make sense, though. The dildo is the entire reason they even do this, Harry can’t tell Louis not to use it. Although it might be nice to do this just once without it, focusing on the sound of each other’s voice.

“Gotta start with fingers, though,” Harry says. Realizes that he’s stopped stroking his cock and starts up again, trying to find the rhythm he had earlier. Kind of feels like he’s been pulled out of his head a little, for some reason.

Louis makes that noise again, a little more desperate this time. “No.”

Vaguely, Harry can feel himself starting to frown. This is something he can’t let slide by like it doesn’t matter, because it does. This matters a lot. “Opening yourself up with two fingers is a lot different than opening yourself up with none, Louis,” he says sharply, and lets his hand fall away from his cock.

At least as much as it can when it’s still tucked safely inside his shorts, that is.

“No,” Louis repeats, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I mean, I don’t need to. I’m still – from earlier.”

He’s still. For a second, Harry actually doesn’t know what he means. Then it clicks, so suddenly Harry actually gasps, just a little.

Open. He’s still open from earlier. He’s still open from earlier when he fucked himself with the dildo. The dildo that’s a clone of Harry’s cock.

For a much longer second, Harry’s brain decides that now would be a perfect time to short circuit.

“You,” he says eventually, pausing to swallow the sudden rush of saliva that’s collected in his mouth. “You sure you don’t need it?”

“I’m sure,” Louis says.

Look. Harry trusts Louis with most things. Ninety-nine percent of all things, Harry trusts Louis with. Being vigilant about his own personal safety? Not really one of them.

“Humor me then, baby, and slick up two fingers anyway, just finger yourself for a minute.” In case he’s not quite as open as he thinks he is. Harry would like to be the judge of it, to be perfectly honest, but that’s not something that can happen right now. Even if they are only a hallway apart.

Louis doesn’t agree, exactly, but he huffs out a noise and starts doing it anyway. The faintly audible slick noises are a dead giveaway that he’s doing it, that he’s got two lube slick fingers stuffed up inside his arse, making room for Harry’s cock to fit.

For Harry’s fake cock to fit.

It doesn’t take Louis long. He doesn’t say anything while he does it, probably because he’s feeling stroppy about being made to do it in the first place. He doesn’t say anything until he’s finished doing it, and, by the sounds of it, has pulled his fingers out again.

Harry’s hand has taken a hold of his cock again.

“All slick,” Louis says. “Can I do it now or are you going to bother me about something else?”

Harry wants to say no. He really, really wants to say no, doesn’t want to let Louis take a hold of the dildo and position it underneath himself, sink down onto it nice and slow until it’s filling him up, until it’s the only thing he can think about.

He resists the urge. It’s a weird, illogical urge anyway. “Yeah, baby, go ahead.”

“Finally,” Louis mutters, falling quiet as he gets into position. Mostly quiet, anyway. He can never manage to keep his sex noises all the way silent, and Harry doesn’t know whether that’s because he doesn’t try or if he actually can’t manage, but it doesn’t matter. It gets to Harry either way, always makes his cock throb, always makes him dig his nails into his skin to keep himself from coming for a bit longer.

That’s what he does now. Digs his nails into the inside of his thigh, abandoning his cock for a second, holding it off a bit longer.

God, just a bit longer.

“You done?” Harry asks. Waits for Louis’ throaty noise of assent before continuing, “Feel good?”

“Feels good,” Louis rasps back. “I – I’m gonna go now, okay?” He starts moving before Harry can answer, the rustle of sheets under his legs giving him away. It’s a sight Harry has seen enough times that he can picture it easily enough, Louis kneeling in the middle of the bed, muscles straining as he fucks himself on the dildo, pleasuring himself.

Harry’s cock hasn’t lost interest, but it feels – uninspired. This isn’t quite doing it for him. He grabs it again, giving it a few more strokes to help it along. “Bet you look so pretty right now,” he says. He knows it’s true, which makes him feel better. Louis is gorgeous and he’s gorgeous when he’s getting off. That’s a fact.

Louis makes a noise that half amused and entirely turned on. “Bet you don’t look so bad yourself.”

The frown Harry’s been wearing half-consciously is threatening to quirk up into a smile. “You think so?”

There’s a bit of delay. Louis must be hitting his prostate now, making half choked, gaspy little noises instead of answering. Harry waits, fingers curled loosely around his cock, listening.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes eventually. “You get this look on your face sometimes like you’re thinking about bending me in half and having your way with me.”

All of the blood in Harry’s body surges through his veins, directly to his cock. It feels like he’s harder than he’s ever been in his entire life, suddenly ready to come. “Sometimes I am thinking about bending you in half and having my way with you,” Harry murmurs. His eyes are closed and he doesn’t remember doing that, doesn’t remember telling his brain to do anything other than avoid coming right at this very second.

“I,” Louis says, and that’s all he says. Because he’s coming.

Harry’s intimately acquainted with how Louis sounds when he’s coming.

“God, baby, you sound so good,” Harry says, tightening his grip on his cock and giving himself another four strokes, listening to Louis’ orgasm whimpers with the phone pressed to his ear, and that’s all it takes before Harry is coming too.

For a while, all they do is breathe into each other’s ear, coming down from their respective orgasms. Harry’s hand is sticky with come, and he wipes it on the closest material available. It’s probably his last clean shirt but he doesn’t care, can’t care. Doesn’t have the energy to care. That’s what dry cleaning service is for, anyway.

His chest feels kind of cold. It would be perfect if he had someone here to gather up into his arms, hold close to keep him warm, but he doesn’t, so he has to make due with pulling the covers up to his shoulders. It’ll have to be good enough.

“Fuck, forget sometimes how out of it this toy makes me feel after a while,” Louis says. Harry’s chest is still cold, and his heart beats unhappily at the statement.

“Take it out, then,” he says. Ignore it. That’s all he can do. It’s just a weird instinct, one he’s never had before. He’s just associating sex with feelings for the first time, that’s all it is.

Right?

“Three steps ahead of you, H,” Louis says, almost smug, and Harry can picture the way he stretches, completely content. “Told you I knew how to make you feel better.”

Harry does feel better. Mostly. Still, he hangs up on principle. Can’t let Louis think he’s gotten away with something. That never ends well.

 

“I never realized it was possible to hate a place so much before,” Louis says. It’s a statement that should have some feeling behind it, irritation or anger, something like that, but it doesn’t. It comes out listless instead, practically emotionless.

It’s the heat. Texas in the middle of summer, it’s insane. Normally Harry doesn’t mind the heat, can tolerate it, even, and Louis likes it. He’s always cold, so being in a warm place usually agrees with him.

Apparently not right now, though.

“Just stay still,” Harry says. “You’re just going to make yourself hotter if you keep moving.”

Louis isn’t even moving that much, truth be told, but he’s never really all that still, either. He’s sitting slumped against the back of the couch, and he’s still moving more than Harry is on his spot on the floor.

Too much moving. Harry has always thought the air conditioning on the bus was pretty good, but it’s no match for this heat.

“I am staying still,” Louis protests. Harry wouldn’t believe him even if he couldn’t see the impatient tap of Louis’ toes against the floor, and he can.

Pointing that out seems like too much effort. Harry stays silent, letting his eyes drift closed. A nap sounds good. He could go for a nap right about now.

It only takes about thirty seconds before Louis gets impatient with waiting for Harry to acknowledge him again. He slips off the couch, wedging himself between it and Harry.

Harry groans. He wants to roll away, but there’s really nowhere to go. “Seriously, Lou, it’s too hot for this.” It’s too hot for everything. One of them is definitely going to get heat stroke when they go onstage tonight. Harry’s hoping it won’t be him.

“I’m so _bored_ ,” Louis says, kicking at Harry’s calf. They’re pressed too close together for it to hurt, and Harry would still rather be on the other side of the room right now, it’s that hot.

“’m sleeping,” Harry mumbles back. He’s not, but he could be. Pretty easily, in fact. It’s hot in here and it’s even hotter with Louis pressed up against him like this, but sleep is a thing that could happen.

Sleep.

“You’re not sleeping,” Louis says dismissively, kicking Harry’s calf again. “You’re just ignoring me for no good reason.”

Wanting to sleep is a pretty good reason. Harry stays silent, hoping Louis will get the hint.

He doesn’t. It’s not really a surprise. “Do you think the venue is going to have better air conditioning than the bus?” Louis asks. Harry’s hand is moving, and he’s not the one doing it.

He has to peek one eye open, just to make sure Louis hasn’t produced a marker out of nowhere to write cuss words on Harry’s skin. The last time that happened Harry hadn’t been able to get them to wash off in time for the show and he’d gotten chewed out by Paul for like an hour.

“God, I hope so,” Harry answers. He thinks longingly of a nice tall glass of ice water, cooling his throat. If the venue doesn’t have good air con he might actually cry.

Louis doesn’t have a marker. He’s just picking at the polish on Harry’s thumbnail, trying to peel it off. Harry closes his eye again, satisfied. He was going to take the nail polish off before the show anyway, and once Louis gets started on trying to peel it off he gets obsessed with it for half an hour or until he’s gotten it all off. There’s no in between. It’ll definitely keep him busy while Harry takes a nap.

Mm. Sleep.

 

“Is it in?” Harry asks, keeping the words low and quiet, just between them. The phone is slick against his ear, wet with sweat, despite the fan spinning lazily over his head and the air con going full blast. It’s so hot in here Harry’s skin is prickling with it.

Louis’ breathing is heavy in his ear, uneven. “I. It’s - yeah. Mm. It’s in.” Distracted. He’s paying more attention to the toy than the sound of Harry’s voice. 

Jealousy surges through Harry’s gut. It’s irrational, this jealousy, and Harry knows it, can’t stop it. “You know it’s not fucking you like I would, yeah?”

Everything is out of control. All of this, it’s out of control. They should have stopped doing this weeks ago.

Louis huffs a breath into the phone, impatient and still preoccupied. “What are you talking about, it _is_ you.”

No, it’s not. It’s really, really not. It’s a piece of rubber that happens to be the exact same size, shape and width of Harry’s cock. That doesn’t mean that it is Harry. Harry’s cock is right here in this room with him, filling up his own hand, hot and heavy, nowhere near Louis’ arse.

Which is where that fucking piece of rubber currently happens to be.

“No,” Harry tells him, wetting his own lips and wishing they were Louis’, wishing that he knew what they tasted like, how Louis would sound as Harry kissed him. “You’re fucking yourself with it. If it was me, if I was there, I’d be doing it different.”

“I’m sitting on it,” Louis says bluntly, rustle in the background as something shifts. Probably the sheets underneath him, getting tangled up around his legs, making it hard for him to ride the dildo. “’m doing it exactly how I like it.”

Harry’s mouth waters, thinking about it. About being tangled up in that bed with him, flat on his back as Louis slides down his cock slowly, filling himself up with inch after inch of it, until there’s no more left and he’s just sitting there, getting used to the feeling of Harry inside of him, big and thick and just right.

The reality of the situation is that it wouldn’t take him that long, getting used to the stretch. He’s used to the feeling of Harry’s cock inside of him because he’s _had_ Harry’s cock inside of him so many times he probably can’t even count them anymore, or at least a reasonable facsimile of Harry’s cock, and he knows every inch of it, every vein. Because Harry’s been fucking _letting him_.

And that has to stop.

“If I was there,” Harry repeats, keeping his eyes squeezed closed as he drags his fist down his cock, his real cock, the one attached to his body, “I’d do it better. You know that, right?”

Louis sighs, more rustling coming across the line. Harry can picture it, what he looks like right now, head tipped back, lips parted as he bounces on the fake cock Harry gave him as a joke, pleasuring himself easily. He’s not really responding anymore, just making noise as he gets himself off, but he’s listening. Harry knows he’s listening.

They’ve been through this enough times that he knows Louis is listening.

“You think you want it quick and easy, baby,” he murmurs, resisting the urge to tighten his grip on his cock and match the pace of Louis’ breathing, “and that’s fine, getting yourself off like that. Sometimes you have to do it quick, get it out of the way. But I wouldn’t do it like that. I’d make you shiver and squirm and moan, take my time with you. You have no idea the things my cock is capable of doing to you.”

Louis’ noises get the tiniest bit louder, breath coming more frantically in Harry’s ear. It’s different - things Harry has been thinking ever since that first phone call left him reeling coming out, finally given voice. He _wants_ Louis, wants to fuck him better than the fake cock he’s got crammed inside his arse right now, wants to have him and to hold him and to kiss him.

God, he wants to kiss him.

“If you think my cock is making you feel good right now, you won’t be able to stop coming when I get inside you for real, make you feel so good you won’t even know what to do with yourself,” Harry rasps, uncurling his fingers from around his cock. He’s about to come, just from listening to Louis breathe in his ear, whimper and whine and struggle as he fucks himself on Harry’s cock.

Harry’s fake cock. Because Harry is back in L.A. and Louis is in London.

“God, baby, don’t even really care about the sex,” Harry sighs, suddenly morose, cock as hard as ever. “Just want to hold you in my arms.”

Slowly, Louis’ breathing steadies. He hasn’t come, or at least Harry doesn’t think he has, doesn’t think he’s missed the gorgeous noises of Louis’ orgasm. “H,” Louis says, voice soft and sweet in his ear. If Harry was there he’d lick the taste of his name right out of Louis’ mouth. “Harry, are you drunk?”

“No,” Harry denies, rolling onto his side and smashing his face into the pillow. Drunk isn’t exactly the right word for what he is right now. A little tipsy, perhaps - a lot tipsy, maybe - but not drunk. Not quite.

He’s definitely going to remember every minute of this in the morning.

“Right,” Louis says, clearly disbelieving.

Desperately, Harry cuts him off. “Still got it inside you, baby?” he asks, shoving his arm underneath his forehead so at least that way he’ll be able to speak properly. “Tell me how it feels.”

Louis’ sigh has nothing to do with his arousal, this time. “Harry.”

“I miss you,” Harry whispers into the phone, shutting his eyes again and listening to the cadence of Louis’ breathing.

“I’m not the one constantly fucking off to L.A., am I?” Louis points out, much too reasonably for someone who presumably still has Harry’s fake cock inside of him. “You can come home anytime, Harry.”

_Come home_. Harry’s going to go home.

 

Harry doesn’t go home. Harry doesn’t have a chance to go home - the next leg of the tour is starting, which is the reason he’d been in L.A. in the first place. They all meet up in San Francisco, and if it wasn’t for the flush that crawls up the back of Louis’ neck as he hugs Harry hello there would be absolutely no indication that things are any different between them.

Harry doesn’t know why he’s so hurt by it. In the eight months - eight months, jesus - they’ve been doing this the only times they’ve ever talked about it have been over the phone. Never in person. Harry talks to Louis to an orgasm and they haven’t once acknowledged it other than on the phone. Or, at least, Louis hasn’t acknowledged it other than on the phone, brushing it off any time Harry brings it up, no matter how jokingly he says something about it.

He never thought he’d be having a long distance relationship with someone he sees nearly every day.

 

It can only go on for so long. Harry is well aware that it can only go on for so long before he reaches his breaking point, and he’s pretty close already.

He just never thought he’d reach that point like this.

“Get out,” Louis says, high pitched and panicky. He’s so still. Harry can’t stop drinking in every detail, every nuance of his expression, every bead of sweat.

It’s so much different than the pictures and the videos. So much more real.

Harry swallows, dragging his eyes back up to Louis’ face. “Is that what you really want?” he asks quietly.

Slowly, Louis sits up, dragging the sheet over his hips. He doesn’t bother taking the toy out. “Harry,” he says, just as quietly.

“No,” Harry says desperately. It feels like he’s frozen to this spot. “Lou, I - we can’t keep going like this.”

“Harry,” Louis repeats, like it’s the only word in his vocabulary, the only word he knows. Just Harry’s name, that’s it. Repeating it over and over, slightly raspier each time - 

Okay, Harry’s getting a little off track.

“You have it inside of you right now,” Harry says. His knees feel like they’re about to buckle underneath him from the thought. 

Louis’ face closes off. “It’s mine,” he says sharply, fingers twitching in his lap. “It’s none of your business what I like to put up my arse.”

“It is,” Harry says. “It is, when you call me at three in the morning because you want me to talk to you into an orgasm. When you send me videos of you sucking it, it’s my business, Lou.” He drags the chair out from underneath the desk and collapses into it, burying his head in his hands.

“Harry,” Louis says again. There’s the sound of rustling coming from the bed. “Harry, come here.”

That is not what Harry expected him to say at all. He nearly trips over his own feet making his way over, perches on the edge of the bed. For a minute, Louis doesn’t say anything else, just rubs his hand over Harry’s back slowly. 

“What are we doing here,” Louis says eventually, still rubbing Harry’s back. 

“I want you,” Harry says, the words exploding out of him. “I want you all the fucking time, Lou, and it’s only getting worse.”

He turns, has to be looking at Louis, seeing his face. “And I don’t - I don’t - ”

He falters. The words stop coming out, stuck in his throat, in his brain.

Louis’ hand slows to a stop. He doesn’t take it off Harry’s back. “I know you want me,” he says eventually. “I want you too.”

The words don’t do anything to appease Harry’s feelings. They don’t tell him what’s going on, what they’re doing. What they’re trying to accomplish. If they’re trying to accomplish anything. There’s an unspoken _but_ attached to the end of Louis’ statement. _But_.

_But I don’t know what that means_.

_I’m in love with you_ , Harry thinks. Feels.

He feels it. What he feels for Louis, it’s love. It’s all encompassing, _want you everyday, want to see you everyday, miss you when I’m not there with you_ love.

It’s love.

“I’m in love with you,” Harry says, turning fully. He catches Louis’ hand in his own, tangles their fingers together. “I’m in love with you, Louis, and I hate that the first time I say those words to you you’re sitting there with a poor imitation of my cock inside of you.”

Louis laughs. He laughs. He fucking _laughs_ , the sound a little shocky, a little shaky, and pulls his hand out of Harry’s grasp.

Harry’s confusion lasts less than a second. Louis is clambering into his lap, absolutely no grace about it, sheet and all, and then they’re kissing.

They’re kissing.

It’s a wet, messy kiss, one that feels like it’s over before it’s even started.

“You would declare your undying devotion for me and complain about the sex toy you gave me in the same breath,” Louis says. He’s naked, sitting in Harry’s lap, incandescent smile taking over his entire face. He’s gorgeous, naked and fearless, so sure of himself. So sure of Harry.

“What?” Harry says dumbly, hands curled around Louis’ hips, fingers touching smooth, bare skin. Louis is naked. Louis is naked and sitting in his lap.

This kind of feels like a fever dream. Like a scene Harry’s played out in his head a thousand times over, imagined every possible way and never expected to actually happen.

“Why are you so stupid,” Louis laments. He kisses Harry in the same breath, soothing any indignation Harry could have mustered up.

Harry’s blood runs hot through his veins. His jeans are suddenly way too tight, constricting, and he wants to _fuck_. Wants to take that stupid toy out of Louis’ arse and replace it with the real thing, make every dirty fantasy he’s ever had come to life.

His right hand slides down the curve of Louis’ arse, fingers slipping between his cheeks to press against the base of the dildo. Louis gasps into his mouth, squirming on his lap.

“You fucking - ” Louis says, breaking the kiss just as abruptly as he’d started it. “I. Fuck. I’m in love with you, too.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice rough. “I kind of got that.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling because he’s in love with Harry and Harry is in love with him and Harry’s chest feels like it might burst. “For someone who claims to be so good at sex you’re moving awfully slow,” Louis observes. “I’m literally naked and ready in your lap and you’re just sitting there.”

“Christ, can’t a guy have five seconds between hearing that the love of his life loves him back and moving on to the sex?” Harry complains, squeezing a handful of Louis’ arse. “You’re so impatient.”

“You love me,” Louis shoots back, like it’s a thing he can throw in Harry’s face, gleeful and true. “You probably want to marry me and keep me trapped with you for the rest of your life.”

Sounds about right. “One day,” Harry says, and he’s the one who instigates the kiss this time, before Louis can decide how to respond to that. They’ve got the rest of their lives to have that particular discussion, and right now Harry wants to fuck. They’ve waited long enough.

“Any other day I would want to take my time opening you up,” Harry says, tapping two fingers against the base of the dildo pointedly, “but considering our situation, I think we’ll be okay without.”

Louis shifts, the weight of him settling more firmly against Harry’s cock. Harry’s very interested cock. He kind of wants to see what it looks like, the dildo nestled inside of Louis, but at the same time he wants to yank it out and toss it out the window, never to be seen again.

He’s never claimed to be the most rational person in the world.

“ _We’ll_ be okay without?” Louis repeats, arms locked around the back of Harry’s neck. “You’re not the one who’s about to get ten inches of cock shoved into his arse, why are you going on about _we_?”

This could derail their entire night if Harry let it. Normally he’s okay with his plans being derailed when it’s by Louis, but this time - not so much.

He grips Louis’ hips again, holding him tight, and then he moves, flipping Louis down against the bed and pinning him there so there’s no chance he’ll get away. Louis gasps again, louder this time, the noise shocked with the tiniest hint of a whimper in it, and for half a second Harry thinks he’s hurt him.

It doesn’t last long. The noise was a whimpery one, sure, but it was a good whimpery one. Harry’s pretty sure. “You seem to be doing fine with it right now,” Harry says, trying to get a hand between Louis’ legs to pull the dildo out.

Louis clenches his thighs tight together, refusing to give Harry access. Harry stops, pulling back an inch or so to look at him. “God, Harold, you can’t just go around trying to put your hands between a boy’s legs,” Louis says, the words coming out insincere, a little teasing.

Harry scrapes the side of his thumbnail along Louis’ left thigh, as far down as he can get it with Louis’ thighs pressed tight together. It gets an interesting reaction, kind of a full blown shiver, and he tucks that little piece of information away for now. Something to explore later.

“Sorry,” he says, doing it again. “I thought you wanted to have sex, is all. My bad.”

There’s frustration warring on Louis’ face. Harry thinks it’s probably due to him being torn between whether he wants to mock Harry for saying it like that or whether he wants to actually have sex, and Harry fucking _delights_ in it. He’s never had sex with his best friend before but now he’s thinking that it’s the best possible kind of sex to be had.

It turns out there’s nothing quite like being sexually attracted to the person whose mockery of you is never ending. 

“So you’re gonna do me like that, then?” Louis settles for eventually, plucking at the shoulder of Harry’s shirt. “Just get your cock out and fuck me while you’re still fully clothed?”

Harry’s cock throbs a response, reminding him of exactly what position they’re in like Harry could ever forget. “You want me to?” he asks, wiggling his fingertips into the heat between Louis’ thighs, just a little. Doesn’t try to push it any further, not yet. “I wanna get in you any way you want it, baby.”

There’s silence. Louis is staring at him. “You know, I really wish that I didn’t know you well enough to know that you just tried to make a shitty Journey joke,” he says. Harry can’t bite back his grin fast enough, and he knows that the joke was terrible, alright, he knows, but - still.

Still.

He kisses Louis, bends his head down and puts everything he has into it, and one of them makes it warm and wet and dirty fast, impossible to tell who it even was. It’s a good kiss, a great kiss, and Harry’s lungs are rattling in his chest from how turned on he is.

Louis’ thighs ease apart. Harry doesn’t know whether it’s a conscious decision or not, but he takes advantage of it anyway, slipping his fingers down between them, curling up between Louis’ cheeks and taking a hold of the dildo.

The fucking dildo. Christ. This would be Harry’s life.

“Can I take it out?” Harry asks, barely breaking the kiss. He doesn’t specify, doesn’t have to.

They’re too close to really be able to make out anything other than the slow sweep of Louis’ eyelashes as he blinks, nods. Harry’s mouth is wet, flooded with saliva as he grips the dildo, tugs it out in one slow, smooth move.

He doesn’t look at it once it’s out. Can’t. Just tosses it over the side of the bed onto the floor, half hoping that it’ll just roll away and get lost forever.

Beneath him, Louis laughs, the sound airy and light, so fucking amused at Harry’s expense, and Harry wants to take offense to it, he really does, except Louis is naked and hard under him, arse suddenly empty and probably aching to be filled. And Harry’s the only one who can fill it exactly the way Louis is used to.

“You fucking freak,” Louis says. There’s no denying the fondness in his tone, the happiness, and Harry’s equally as happy and sees no reason why they shouldn’t be kissing again, so he instigates another one, trying to get it good and deep while Louis struggles to undo the buttons on his shirt.

They both end up mostly failing, but that’s okay. What matters is that they’re here, together, happy and in love, and that stupid dildo is gone. That’s all that matters.

Louis is still laughing. It’s half muffled by Harry’s mouth now, and he’s still laughing. “You do realize you’re talking out loud, right?” he manages, all the buttons finished and trying to pull the shirt down over Harry’s shoulders.

Well. Harry hadn’t, actually. “Shh, baby,” he says in response, unable to resist the lure of that sweet hole calling his name any longer, sinking two fingers in easily.

Louis’ laugh turns into a shaky moan. It’s still too laugh-like for Harry’s liking, so he curls his fingers, searching for Louis’ prostate. “Don’t - don’t tell me to shush,” Louis gasps out, finally succeeding in getting the shirt pushed down to Harry’s wrists. Harry obligingly shakes it off his left arm, but the right one is otherwise occupied, so it stays like that, half hanging off him.

“But you’re so pretty when you’re quiet,” Harry croons, finding it and pressing his fingers against it hard. Louis’ leg spasms, actually visibly spasms, and Harry thinks _yeah_. That’s a view he wants to see for the rest of his life.

“You saying I’m not pretty all the time?” Louis demands, squeezing Harry’s bicep. “So last week when you told me that I’m the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen you were just trying to get yourself off?”

Louis has always been the most beautiful person Harry has ever seen. It just took Harry a bit of time to realize it, is all.

He’s not going to say that, though. There’s going to be plenty of opportunity to admit it later, and he’s pretty sure Louis already knows anyway.

“You’re greedy,” he says instead, mouthing the words against Louis’ cheek, pulling his fingers out and fumbling blind in the bedside table for a condom. “Always clamoring for my attention, never care what else I’m doing at the time.”

In response, he gets a sharp yank on a handful of his hair. Harry winces, but he’s too busy fingering Louis and trying to get his clothes off at the same time to really do anything about it. “If you didn’t take five years to do anything you could be doing _me_ right now,” Louis says pointedly. It’s been one of his favourite jokes over the years, how slow Harry talks, and it’s probably not going to die anytime soon.

Harry’s okay with it. Especially when it’s directly about how much time he takes when it comes to sex. He wants to remember _everything_ about this moment.

It takes a couple of minutes to succeed in getting the rest of his clothes off, too invested in the tight clench of Louis’ hole around his fingers, but Harry manages eventually, rolling a condom down over his cock quickly. He probably got it out of the table but he can’t even remember right now, feels like magic that he’s even got one.

“You remember the first time you admitted that you were actually using it?” Harry asks, pressing Louis’ left leg up, fingers curled against the inside of his thigh, lining them up. “You told me that sitting on my cock made you want to come.”

Louis’ head tips back, shoulders going lax and easy against the mattress. His chest rises as he breathes, fast and deep. “Somehow I get the feeling that you’re not going to let me demonstrate that right now.”

Christ, he’s a mouthy brat. Harry has no idea how it took them so long to get here.

“I’m going to make you _feel it_ ,” Harry promises. He starts pushing in, past that initial ring of resistance, gripping Louis’ hips tight, unable to stop himself. “Won’t need to do any of the work, baby, gonna make you come so hard you won’t even remember what the dildo felt like.”

There’s a ton of rude comments to be made there, mostly about it feeling the same, but Louis doesn’t make any of them. All he does is exhale shakily, fingers digging into Harry’s arms, holding on as Harry pushes into him.

It’s everything Harry imagined it would be and more. For a brief, glorious second it’s like he can barely think, like the entire world has been narrowed down to the here and now. To this handful of seconds.

Louis isn’t talking, but he is making noise. Low, sweet little noises in the back of his throat as Harry fills him up, noises that echo the throb of Harry’s cock.

“Fuck,” Louis says eventually, after Harry has pushed every single inch of his cock inside of him. “I kind of wish I didn’t love your cock so much.”

Harry can feel the smile on his face, tugging and stupid. Feels like he might never stop smiling again. “Why’s that?” he asks, pressing his mouth to the corner of Louis’, biting gently at his bottom lip. He wants to move, wants to start thrusting, and he wants to hear Louis’ answer too, so he stays still. Just for another minute.

“Gonna wanna climb on it every chance I get,” Louis says, and Harry can’t stop himself anymore. Snaps his hips hard and fast, falling into a rhythm that feels as easy as breathing. Louis has gone breathless as he continues, “Never - _fuck_ \- never going to want to get off it. Going to use you to make me come so much you’ll be begging me to give you a break.”

Harry really, sincerely doubts it. Thinks there’s probably next to no chance that Louis’ going to want more sex than Harry will - Harry still wants him, and he’s literally inside of him right now.

“That’s perfect, then,” he responds, breathing the words into Louis’ mouth and picking up his pace, giving his thrusts everything he’s got, hot tight heat clamped around his cock and making him feel like he’s seeing stars, that’s how good it is. “Wanna get in you every chance I get.”

The words taper off towards the end, lost in Louis’ mouth, and neither of them bother trying to make them out, bodies moving together in unison, arching against each other, rubbing, tongues wet and touching. It really is the best sex Harry has ever had, and he can’t - 

He wants to come.

He wants to get Louis there first.

“You close?” he asks, still talking into Louis’ mouth, unable to convince himself to pull more than an inch away. Hasn’t had enough of kissing him, not yet. Curls his fingers around Louis’ cock, gripping firmly.

Louis moans from the back of his throat, clenching down around Harry’s cock, fingers gone bruisingly tight on Harry’s arms. “Could probably have come the second you got inside me,” he admits, the words shaky and thin.

He doesn’t usually stroke Harry’s ego, but when he does - when he does, he does it the best it’s ever gotten stroked. Or something. That makes sense, right?

“Good,” Harry whispers, still thrusting, orgasm tugging low in his belly, trying to hold it off for just a few more seconds. Just a few more, that’s all he needs. Bites Louis’ jaw a little, pulling him off a little out of sync with his thrusts.

Doesn’t matter. Louis’ next breath comes out a half-formed moan, and before Harry even knows it Louis is coming, spilling all over his hand, his fingers, his own belly.

“Baby,” Harry says, forcing the word out through gritted teeth, “I want to see you come about a thousand more times before the night is over, but first - ”

Louis wraps a leg around Harry’s back, arching up into him and burying one hand in Harry’s hair, guiding his head into the curve of Louis’ neck. Harry takes that as the permission it is, sucking on a mouthful of flesh, using his teeth liberally. It’s going to be a fucking spectacular mark by the time Harry’s done with it, he’s sure.

“C’mon,” Louis says, voice gone soft and sweet the way he usually only gets when he’s sleepy and ready to be cuddled, curling his fingers against Harry’s scalp. “Know you’ve wanted to come in me for ages, now you’ve finally got your chance. Gonna show me what you’ve got or are you all talk?”

Even during sex he’s trying to goad Harry into something. Harry doesn’t think he could love him more.

Harry would like to answer, he really would, because nothing good ever comes from letting Louis have the last word, but it turns out that Louis goading him is a surefire way to make him come. It’s overwhelmingly good, almost a little painful from exactly how good it is and how much Harry has wanted this, and for a second he can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to come in Louis bare.

The thought only makes him come harder.

Louis’ hand is heavy against the back of Harry’s head. He hasn’t complained about Harry still being inside of him yet, and Harry plans to stay that way until he does. There’s a little bit of an ache still in his cock from the pressure of Louis surrounding him, but Harry kind of likes that. Definitely doesn’t dislike it enough to move.

“H,” Louis murmurs eventually, fingers still tangled in Harry’s hair. “You do know I’m going to make you find that dildo, right?”

Harry pretends to be asleep. Makes a mental note to find the dildo and toss it out the window the second Louis isn’t looking.

It may have started as a joke, but it’s anything but that now. Now, it’s everything.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://crazyupsetter.tumblr.com/)


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